Pretty Girls, Pool Parties & Pot Bellied Pigs
by sienna27
Summary: Universe A Offshoot: TV Prompt "Shirt Disturber" - Another flashback for early season 4,the summer of Girl. This is the continuation Emily & Hotch's shopping fics, now they're off to Dave's for the pool party
1. Shirt Disturber

**Author's Note:** I know there are in progress things awaiting updates, and I have been shuffling around on like 5 things this week (it was a good creative spurt, got full drafts done in many fics) but I was most in the mood for writing banter. And there's nothing like Girl H/P from their summer friendship days, for good bantering opportunities :)

So now I give you the promised follow-up to the bikini shopping story, the pool party at Dave's. But like all _'Hotch & Em go to a party' _fics, somehow we ended up with a full 'pre-party' chapter. It happens every time.

Regardless, it's a fun little diversionary bit. Hope you enjoy :)

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_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also random randomness that is my brain._

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><p><strong>Prompt Set #32 (July 2011)<strong>

Show: Corner Gas

Title Challenge: Shirt Disturber

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><p><strong>Pretty Girls, Pool Parties &amp; Pot Bellied Pigs<br>**

Hotch paused for a moment outside of Emily's door to push his sunglasses up and back onto his head. Then he raised his fist.

After two quick raps, he stood there for five seconds.

Nothing.

Three more raps . . . ten more seconds . . . _still,_ nothing.

Sensing this day was perhaps starting off on the wrong foot, he took a breath to holster the faint bubbling of crankiness that was threatening his good mood . . . as hard as he tried crankiness was often still his default reactionary mode . . . and then slowly exhaled.

Okay . . . he decided with a degree more of internally noticeably patience . . . he'd try one more time with the knocking approach, and if she _still_ didn't answer, he'd break out his cell phone.

With this perfectly reasonable . . . calm . . . approach decided on, Hotch lifted his fist for four more hard . . . rapid succession . . . knocks. And though he kind of felt like the Big Bad Wolf doing it . . . that . . . finally worked.

Because not five seconds later he heard a harried and distant, "I'M COMING! I'M COMING!" floating through door. His remaining flicker of irritation melted as his lips began to twitch.

"COME FASTER!" He yelled back.

Just then the door whipped open and an extremely rumpled and sleep eyed Emily stood in front of him. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"That was VERY dirty, sir!" She said with a smirk.

Sometimes he was just as bad as Dave . . . she loved it.

Hotch looked down at Emily with a completely blank expression.

"I have no idea what you're talking about Prentiss."

Of course that was a bold faced lie. He'd said what he'd said _solely_ for her amusement. And seeing her chuckle as she stepped back, he knew that his mission had been fully accomplished.

Good thing . . . he thought as he stepped over the threshold . . . because making Emily laugh was now a task on his daily to do list. It was right up there with his call to Jack.

A vital activity to maintain his peace of mind.

"So," he continued drolly while slipping his arm around Emily's waist and leaning down to kiss her cheek, "I see that you're ready to go at ten sharp, just like you promised."

Judging by her messy hair and state of complete undress . . . she was wearing a long yellow cupcake t-shirt covered in a short pink robe that she'd obviously only yanked on to answer the door . . . she'd just woken up.

"I know, I'm sorry," Emily clucked apologetically as Hotch pushed the door shut behind them and flipped the lock, "I forgot to set my alarm. But I washed my hair last night, so all I have to do is just jump back in the shower really quick."

Though the sequence of her dressing plans made total sense to her, Emily could see from the furrowed brow she was getting from Hotch, that they made no sense to him.

"But," Hotch tipped his head, "if you already washed your hair last night, presumably _in_ the shower, then why do you have to get _back_ in the shower? What could you have been doing just in bed that you could have gotten _that_ dirty?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth . . . and he saw the flush of bright scarlet hit Emily's face . . . Hotch immediately wrinkled his nose.

"Sorry, forget I asked that. Though," then a thought popped into his head and he looked around worriedly, "you are alone, right?"

Though he would have otherwise had no earthly reason to expect that Emily wasn't alone . . . after all she KNEW that he was coming over to pick her up so she should have cleared any 'gentlemen' friends out of the house an hour ago . . . now that the thought had popped into his head, he couldn't pop it back out.

And he REALLY wished it would go.

Because he just absolutely did NOT want to have the image of Emily having sex with _anyone_, stuck in his head. It was disturbing on many levels.

Not the least of which he felt like he was invading her privacy or something.

"Of COURSE I'm alone," Emily huffed in a combination of irritation and embarrassment, "what kind of a SKANK do you think I am?"

GOD! How could he even ASK her that?

"_Skank?"_ Hotch sputtered in astonishment as Emily pulled herself out of his grasp with an annoyed grunt, "what in God's name would make you think that I was calling you a SKANK?"

Over these past few months of learning 'Emily Vocabulary,' Hotch knew that 'skank' was pretty much the worst thing that you could all a woman . . . next to of course the C-word, or 'Paris Hilton,' though Emily seemed to consider all terms interchangeable . . . so he wasn't sure how the hell she had inferred that he would EVER, under ANY circumstances, choose to use such an offensive word when describing her or her dating activities!

"Well," Emily shot Hotch a nasty scowl as her arms automatically crossed in a protective stance across her chest, "you know that I'm not dating anyone right now. So what _would _you call a girl that would pick up some random dude and do . . . do," she flapped her hand in disgust, "random dirty dude sex, KNOWING full well that she had another guy," she shot him another scowl "her BOSS no less, coming over to her house a few hours LATER? That's pretty much the book definition of SKANK!"

That was Paris HILTON skank! If Paris Hilton _had_ a job of course!

Which she didn't.

'_Freeloading skank,_' she thought with disgust.

Though Hotch knew that he was pretty far inside the doghouse . . . Emily was both offended and angry, a dangerous combo when dealing with any woman, let alone one trained in krav maga . . . he couldn't stop the twitching of his lips at her choice of 'dude' phrasing.

"Doing random dirty dude sex," he repeated seriously with a clearing of his throat, "that does sound like some pretty dirty sex. Like there are drifters involved maybe."

Though Emily tried to hold her scowl a bit longer . . . Hotch's remark had been VERY _un_chivalrous(!) . . . as soon as she saw the faint outline of Hotch's dimple, her own mouth began to quiver. And that in combination with both the phrase . . . and the full mental image . . . of the 'random dirty drifter dude sex' in her head, and she gave up being angry completely.

It just wasn't worth it.

"Shut up!" She snorted with a laughing smack to Hotch's chest, "I got flustered!"

"Yes, apparently," Hotch responded with an amused shake of his head, "though for future reference," he shot her an eyebrow, "you don't need to describe any manner of 'dude.' You can simply respond, 'we're alone,' and that will be sufficient to close the topic."

Again, NO images, NO specifics!

"Well why _did_ you ask me if I had sex last night?" Emily huffed, "that's just not right. That's something DEREK would do, Hotch."

Him having a bit of the Bawdy Dave in him was one thing, but if Hotch was going to pick up the dirtier aspects of Derek's personality _too,_ well, she was going to have to put her foot down there.

She got enough of that crap at her desk.

"But I DIDN'T ask you if you had SEX last night!" Hotch yelled back in his own fluster, "I would NEVER ask you that, Prentiss!"

As soon as he said it, Hotch flashed back on his prior phrasing and he scowled.

"Okay," he grunted as his hand curled into an irritated fist, "maybe I did ask you that."

But seeing Emily's triumphant look at his admission, Hotch immediately shook his head, "but I didn't _mean _to. Obviously. It was just poor phrasing." And then he shook his head, "but this just all circles back around to my original question. _Why_ are you taking another shower when you just took one last night?"

Christ! He'd conducted interrogations that were less painful than this conversation.

After taking a second to process that Hotch's inquiry about her sex life truly had been a simple misunderstanding . . . which was an ENORMOUS relief to her . . . Emily refocused on his earlier question.

The second shower.

"Did you forget how flipping tiny that bathing suit is?" She asked with a quirk of her brow, "I need to make sure that everything," she waved her hand haphazardly around her leg/mid-drift area, "is all smooth and presentable."

Yes, she was bikini waxed fresh from Wednesday, but she still needed to ensure that there was no embarrassing stubble popping up anywhere. On average, she wore a bathing suit in public like three times a year, it would be nice if she actually looked 'hot' when she did it.

And it was ESPECIALLY important now that she was creeping up on forty.

She might only have a few more years to flash this bod around!

As he considered Emily's reasoning about the need for a second shower, Hotch's brow rose up appraisingly.

"Well," his gaze dropped as he eyed her figure appreciatively, "based on what I can see, everything's looking pretty presentable."

And given that he had dropped Emily off for her bikini wax on Wednesday . . . he could see everything up to the upper thigh area right now . . . he was QUITE sure that everything under the few inches of cupcake fabric, was MORE than presentable for public view. And by public view, he knew that Emily was specifically worried about any comments that Derek might make.

He was . . . like all of them . . . very much looking forward to the pool party, and had been pestering all of the women to find out what exactly they were going to be wearing.

Aside from Emily's blue string bikini . . . which was going to be a general surprise for the team at large . . . Hotch was aware of both Garcia and JJ's responses to Derek's question. Which were respectively a, "Sprite colored, sparkly one piece with matching sarong," and "a tarp."

Hotch was really curious about the tarp.

"Thanks," Emily said with a little smile as she moved forward, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss Hotch's cheek, "but I still need to make sure that it's all _bikini _presentable."

For that totally Hotch . . . completely totally sweet . . . visual assessment and follow up compliment, he'd now been completely forgiven for the inadvertent skank innuendo.

"So," she slipped her arm through his to begin tugging him into the kitchen, "you know coffee's in the canister on the counter, help yourself to whatever you find in the cabinets and fridge, and I'll be back down in like ten minutes."

Ten minutes . . . she added to herself . . . give or take twenty.

Hotch looked over the kitchen . . . focusing in on the coffee canister for a moment . . . and then back down to Emily again.

"We're really looking at more like thirty minutes, right?" He asked with a faint smirk. To which Emily nodded.

"Yes," she smiled, "maybe even forty."

The man was on the verge of knowing her better than she knew herself.

"Okay," Hotch pursed his lips, "just checking to see whether or not it was worth it to make the coffee." He patted her back, "all right, get moving. We're due at Dave's by noon'ish and I'm assuming that you still want to stop at Target on the way there."

_That_ was why he was at her apartment at ten am even though the party wasn't for another two, plus hours. She wanted to go shopping for sunblock.

And HE had apparently lost his balls sometime over the 4th of July.

"Right," Emily nodded as she started walking backwards out of the kitchen, "but I promise I won't be long in Target." And knowing he wasn't all that keen about the shopping trip . . . even it was a brief one . . . she added with a saucy wink, "I'll make it up to you later."

She was thinking a shoulder rub . . . the man walked with enough tension in his body to choke a cat. And though she had no idea if 'choke a cat' was really a phrase, it kind of sounded like one.

But she could see from the twinkle in Hotch's eye that he was about to propose something else besides a backrub.

So she wagged her finger at him.

"Uh, uh," she emphasized with an amused head shake, "not _that_ kind of makeup. I'm offering an above the waist only activity."

Seeing Emily immediately start to get pink as she realized what she'd just offered up as payment . . . her breasts, Hotch couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face.

"Wow!" He waggled his eyebrows, "can't wait to get to '_later_'!"

"Ha!" Emily barked a laugh as she continued backing away from his waggling eyebrows, "you'd have to do a HELL of a lot more than help me buy sunscreen to cop a free feel mister!"

And with that she turned on her heel and ran up the staircase.

Hotch watched Emily scamper off with a twitching of his lips. Then he leaned forward slightly to project his voice.

"MAKE A LIST!" He yelled up the stairs as she disappeared over the landing, "I'M FREE WEDNESDAY!"

Hearing the laughter floating down over the bannister, Hotch smiled. And then with a faint huff he went in search of a coffee mug.

/*/*/*/*/*

Forty minutes later Hotch finally heard the telltale flopping of Emily's flips flops in the upstairs hallway.

FINALLY!

"I THOUGHT YOU DROWNED UP THERE!" He yelled over his shoulder while restacking the half dozen case folders Emily had previously piled neatly on the corner of her coffee table.

He had been keeping himself busy by signing off on her completed evaluations.

"Well," Emily responded drily as she started down the stairs lugging her beach bag complete with towel and outfit to change into later, "if you thought that I had drowned up there, then I'm a little hurt that you didn't at least come drag me out of the tub."

"I would have eventually," Hotch muttered as he clicked the pen shut, "but I was busy. So," he dropped the writing instrument back on the table as he turned to face her, "are you . . ."

Whoa.

Seeing Hotch's eyes widen as his sentence trailed off, Emily paused at the foot of the stairs.

"What's wrong?" She asked worriedly as the beach bag fell to the floor and her hand immediately came up to touch her mouth, "do I have a toothpaste mustache?"

She'd been in such a hurry that she hadn't checked the mirror again before she ran out of the bathroom.

"What?" Hotch asked with a blink while simultaneously shooting his gaze up to Emily's face, "uh, no," he shook his head slowly as he stood up from the couch, "no mustache. I was just," his eyes crinkled as he walked closer, "admiring the view."

And QUITE the view it was! Though he didn't know where the hell she was going to be strapping her pistol.

He couldn't even see a place to hide a box of Tic Tacs.

Feeling a faint blush touch her cheeks, Emily smiled as her fingers brushed over the new white mini-skirt she had bought to wear over her string bikini bottoms. The skirt had both a flare and a little blue pinstripe along the bottom.

It was cute.

And short. Very short. Her legs were bare up to about mid-thigh, so she was carrying her gun in her bag. They were really just going to Dave's house . . . where there would be multiple armed agents . . . and home, so she wouldn't need it anyway. But Hotch's rules . . . due to the nature of the beasts they chased . . . were weapons carried at all times.

So, she was carrying.

And as to the shortness of the skirt, given that she was wearing the bathing suit underneath . . . and a bathing suit ALSO counted as leaving the house clothes . . . she didn't feel the length of the micro-mini was too "risqué."

Risqué being one of her mother's derogatory terms for inappropriate outfits that had been stuck in Emily's head since childhood.

Still though, risqué or not, she knew that she was exposing _much _more leg than usual. Which was why she thought that it was rather odd . . . her eyebrow started to creep up . . . that Hotch wasn't checking them out.

Granted he'd said he admired the view, but apparently not THAT much if he'd lost interest so quickly.

Not that she thought her body was so incredible that he wouldn't be able to tear his eyes off of it, but seriously, she did have VERY nice legs. And that was not bragging, that was just a fact. And the fact that Aaron Hotchner . . . as a red blooded hetero male who very much enjoyed flirting with her . . . wasn't even taking the opportunity to ogle those very nice legs for more than a _second_, well . . . she felt a little wave of personal indignation at his lack of interest . . . that was just INSULTING!

And she was just about to poke him . . . and most definitely embarrass herself while asking why he wasn't checking out her legs . . . when she suddenly realized WHY he wasn't checking out her legs.

He was checking out her boobs.

_Very_ intently.

Like, eyes the size of saucers while he stared at them, intently. And given that she knew this wasn't the first time that Hotch had seen upper lady bits . . . for one thing he had a kid . . . she realized that maybe there was something PARTICULARLY fascinating about her personal upper lady bits at that particular moment in time. And as such, perhaps it would behoove her to check that out.

So her eyes dropped down.

Oh geez . . . she started to feel her face get warm again . . . that was a big oops. It seemed that in her 'hastiness' to get ready . . . she had felt really badly that Hotch was twiddling his thumbs because she'd overslept . . . she forgot to close her blouse up completely.

She definitely should have closed another two (okay, maybe four) buttons on the white shirt that she'd slipped on over the string bikini top.

Because at present . . . looking down from her angle . . . she had cleavage basically all the way down to her navel! And given the way the shirt was clinging to the outer curves of her breasts, the exposure seemed much more noticeable . . . and inadvertently sexual . . . than if she'd been going completely without an outer covering.

Okay . . . her fingers hurriedly moved to slip a few more buttons into their chaste little holes . . . there was no nipple, but still, she definitely looked like a jiggly party queen.

"And here I thought that we were starting early with the above the waist treat," Hotch lamented, "but now I see that you're covering it all up."

It was a nice show while it had lasted though.

Emily's head snapped up as she shot Hotch a sheepish grin, "yes, well, either way you got your 'special viewing.' And really," she rolled her eyes slightly at her own fashion misstep, "if your view got any more 'special,' you would have been able to claim a rounding of second base."

Thank God it was just Hotch who had seen that and not Dave's entire group of partygoers. Or worse . . . she held back a shudder . . . all of the little families doing school shopping at Target.

Now THAT would have been embarrassing!

Hotch chuckled as he reached out to brush Emily's fingers away from her shirt.

"Let me do it," he said with a snort as he began undoing the last two buttons that she'd slipped together, "you're putting them in all the wrong holes."

She was cute when she was flustered though.

"What?" Emily frowned as she looked down at Hotch's fingers now nimbly adjusting the extremely crooked line of her shirt, "oh. Thanks."

Yeah, definitely a good thing that Hotch had picked her up today.

And so she stood there patiently while he buttoned her up. Though her lips began to twitch slightly when she saw him lean back to eyeball her new line of cleavage.

Apparently it did not meet with his approval.

Because he reached out to button one more button before nodding to himself. And then he began straightening her collar.

"You know," she whispered affectionately, "it's not too late for you to try out for Project Runway."

Of course everything he created would have to come with a little suit jacket, but still . . . she felt a little stirring of warmth for him . . . he clearly had a bit of artistic flair in this area that nobody had realized before.

And now she was kind of wondering where it came from.

"I don't know what that is," Hotch murmured as he brushed Emily's hair back behind her shoulder, "and I don't want you to tell me. Okay," his eyes snapped up to meet hers, "all set. Now you won't cause any accidents out in the street."

Well, now it was _less _likely . . . his eyebrow inched up as he checked her less revealing outfit over again . . . those legs of hers could still be registered as lethal weapons.

"Thanks," Emily smiled as she stepped forward to give Hotch a thank you hug, "you're a pal."

It was nice having somebody around to help with stupid little stuff like this.

Not that she wasn't generally a grown person fully capable of dressing herself in 'leaving the house' clothes. But, well, obviously sometimes there was the slight wardrobe glitch.

Like when your tits are half hanging out of your blouse.

"You're welcome," Hotch murmured as he slipped his arms around Emily's waist, "But really," he continued as she sighed against his chest, "it was _vitally_ important that we got you covered up. Otherwise there wouldn't have been any of this 'hugging business' today."

For a moment Emily had no idea what Hotch was talking about, but then suddenly she flashed on their bikini shopping trip and the 'aborted hug' outside the dressing rooms.

She snorted.

"Oh yeah," she huffed, "I'd forgotten about the dressing guidelines. Hmph," she grunted as he patted her back, "then that IS a good thing that we got me all fixed up then."

Because she wasn't going to have these hugs removed from the agenda . . . he was way too warm and cuddly.

And if anyone in the Unit ever heard her use the adjectives "warm and cuddly" to describe their boss, they'd probably think that she was on crack.

"Exactly," Hotch tipped his head back slightly to look down at Emily, "so are we ready to go now?" Then his brow narrowed suspiciously, "and what else are we picking up at Target besides sunscreen?"

Though she'd only specifically outlined sunscreen, they could technically get that at any of the thirty or drug stores that they were going to pass between their homes and Rossi's. So he figured that there was another purpose behind her specific request for a Target side trip.

And sure enough, when Emily tipped her head back to look at him, he could tell from the little smile that there was something else on the shopping agenda.

"Yes, I am ready, and yes, oh wise one, there _was_ something else that I wanted to get besides sunscreen. They have these adorable pigs on sale and I'd . . .

"Sorry," Hotch interrupted with a worried brow, "they have these adorable WHAT on sale?"

It sounded like she'd said . . .

"PIGS!" Emily repeatedly excitedly, "ceramic obviously, not," she rolled her eyes slightly, "you know, livestock."

That would be very messy.

"Oh good," Hotch responded with a faint smirk, "because I'm pretty sure that your condo board would frown on you moving live pigs into the building."

He was actually _genuinely_ relieved that the pig was ceramic. Though he knew that most people would have assumed that from the get go, Emily had been musing the other day about maybe getting a pet. At the time she'd thought perhaps a fish tank . . . little fuss or muss . . . but he'd been worried that maybe she'd subsequently seen some article about those Vietnamese potbellied pigs and decided that was the way to go.

Not that he necessarily thought Target_ stocked _Vietnamese potbellied pigs, but really he had no fricking clue where you'd buy a thing like that.

Target was as good a place to start looking as anywhere else.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Emily responded with an annoyed huff as she walked over to pick up her keys from the sideboard, "have you met the guy in 3B? Roger something. That's a porcine specimen if I ever saw one. Last month," she continued while grabbing her bag from the floor, "he tried to pick me up in the laundry room. Had to wave him off with a bottle of bleach. "

"Bleach?" Hotch repeated in confusion as Emily slipped her bag onto her shoulder and started walking back towards him, "what were you going to do with a bottle of bleach? Throw it at his head?"

If so, seemed like a bottle of fabric softener would have made an easier weapon to aim.

"No," Emily simultaneously shook her head while slipping her hand into Hotch's, "he was folding a load of colors when I walked in there. Told him if he didn't back off to his corner of the laundry room, I was going to dump the whole bottle into his basket of clean laundry. That," she rolled her eyes as she and Hotch began walking down the hall, "sent him running for the exit."

Hotch grunted as he tightened his grip on her hand.

"Well, if it happens again," he said as they approached the door, "I think you should just clock him with the fabric softener. You can't be too careful if you're off by yourself like that in an isolated space," his expression softened as he looked down at her, "you know what can happen."

Too many bad things, that's what. And now he was going to be thinking of them every time she said she had laundry to do.

Great.

Seeing how worried Hotch was Emily immediately moved to allay his concerns.

"Hotch, I promise," Emily patted her bag, "I know your rules and I do _always_ have my gun with me. Even in the laundry room," she tipped her head, "especially in the laundry room, really. It's down in the basement. So," she gave him a soft smile while leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "thanks for your concern, but you don't have to worry about me washing my delicates. I'll be fine. And that guy wasn't acting predatory," she added as Hotch flipped the dead bolt while still staring down at her, "he was just a dumbass with a bad lineup of corny come ons, and a little too persistent of an attitude."

Then Emily's fingers closed around the door knob as she added.

"Honestly, he was nothing. Threatening his clothes was more than enough incentive for him to run away. I didn't have to break out the laundry list, pun incidental, of damage that I could do to him _personally_."

And that was all damage she could have done quite easily without firing a shot.

"Good," Hotch nodded as he stepped back slightly so Emily could pull the door open, "I'm very glad to hear that you are always armed down there. That said," he continued as she stepped in front of him to go through the door, "if you do run into that guy again, or any guy really down there that isn't taking an immediate no for an answer, just shoot me a text and I'll come over and scare the shit out of him, okay?"

Even if he couldn't be there to look after her 24/7, he could at least take some active steps to make sure that she wasn't getting harassed in her own building. And given that he lived less than five minutes away now, he could pretty much be available for playing 'scary boyfriend' down in the laundry room, pretty much any time she needed him.

That's what friends were for.

"Thanks," Emily smiled as she stepped into the hall, "I'll remember that the next time 1D asks me to help him fluff his towels, or 2E asks me to help him figure out the rinse cycle," she furrowed her brow as Hotch pulled the door shut behind them, "I'm not sure really if that's supposed to be some weird sexual come on, or if he's just REALLY stupid, but either way, he does ask me every time I run into him."

It was possible he really was JUST that stupid, but she could have sworn that one day she heard him . . . from a distance . . . telling the doorman that he worked in an emergency room. In which case, Dr. Rinse Cycle was probably just a sleazebag.

Hotch's brow was twitching as he stopped to look down at Emily for a moment. Then he slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her to his side.

"Call me the next time you have laundry to do," his brow darkened as they started down the hall, "I'm coming over to have a talk with these idiots."

Again, he wasn't going to have her harassed in her own building. And any guy that wasn't taking an initial, _"no, I'm not going to 'fluff' your towels' _for an answer," clearly wasn't getting the hint fast enough.

He could just help move things along.

"K," Emily sighed happily as she leaned her head on Hotch's chest, "sounds like a plan."

Even if the laundry room guys were just pests and not predators, it would be nice if they would just go away. If ever you should be allowed to just mind your business and read your book without being hit on, it's while washing your underwear.

That wasn't so much to ask.

And now this lovely man . . . she patted the arm of the lovely man in question . . . was going to make sure that she could now wash her underwear in peace.

Super Hotch strikes again.

Which meant that now . . . they stopped at the elevator and Hotch he the button . . . it was time to move on to other, more pleasant, things.

"Soooo," she started slowly as the doors slid open, "when we get back later, do you want order a pizza? Or do you think we should get Chinese? Or maybe both? You know sometimes I like a little buffet thing."

With Hotch not picking Jack up until morning, he had promised to come back after the party and watch a movie with her.

She was thinking romantic comedy . . . though she had not yet told him that. Either way, she was sure that she could get him to stay late enough to sleep over.

Yay!

"Prentiss," Hotch looked down in astonishment as they stopped onto the elevator, "that's like TEN hours from now. And you do realize that you're probably going to be stuffing your face full of burgers and dogs for at least eight of those ten hours. So how can you even THINK about ordering not one, but TWO additional meals when we get home?"

Of course he knew the woman had a legendary appetite, but come on, she was going to bust the strings on her bikini!

Emily tipped her head back to smile sweetly at Hotch.

"I like to plan ahead."

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><p><em>AN 2: Again, I really do love to write them at this stage. If I could go back, and just write a continuous stream following them day by day in this period, it would be the best thing ever :)_

_I've got a couple more things about done, and I think I can get one more up for Sunday._


	2. Cupcake On My Back

**Author's Note**: Yes, haven't posted in forever. For a few reasons my muses have been wandering quite a bit this year. So suffice it to say, I write when I can, I post when they're done, and that's where we are with that :)

So picking up at Target because I could just see Emily strolling up there in her little mini-skirt, with Hotch following dutifully behind :)

Also, FYI, started a new tumblr with Kavi. Details below. (I almost just wrote 'deets below' but I would have to kick my own ass)

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

_**Tumblr: cmfanficprompts **__ – Just as the name describes. Jointly run with Kavi Leighanna. _

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><p><strong>Prompt Set #35 - Combo NovemberDecember 2011**

Show: Newhart

Title Challenge: Cupcake On My Back

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><p><strong>Cupcake On My Back<strong>

"So why exactly am I carrying all of your crap again?"

Hotch words came out as a grumble as he walked behind Emily through the teeming parking lot of their local Target. He was trying to jam his companion's wallet, badge and FBI credentials into his pants pockets. It was a bit difficult given that he only had the two pockets to work with, and they were already full of his own crap.

Said crap inclusive of his _own_ badge, his _own _FBI credentials and his _own_ damn wallet.

Beyond that there was of course also the usual 'pocket paraphernalia.' Spare change, a large box of cinnamon Tic Tacs, his key rings (work and personal, which were currently scraping his knuckles) and the spare clip of nine millimeters that he often carried with him just in case he was out and about when all hell broke loose.

It had been his experience that Hell didn't seem to know 'On Duty' from 'Off.'

So he was carrying all of that shit, and Emily was carrying, well . . . he shot her a faint scowl as she paused to look back at him with an air of confusion . . . nothing. Not a damn thing. How she managed these manipulations of him, he did not know. One moment he "appeared" to be living his life as a normal adult male in possession of free will and a working pair of testes, the next . . . he was Emily's bitch.

And there was no stopping point in between.

At this point . . . he bit back a grunt as his fingers got wedged between their two badges . . . if he had to officially identify himself today, he was going to look like Nana Hotchner emptying his pockets out on the counter for twenty minutes. And Nana Hotchner was not exactly the most 'confidence inspiring' look in a crisis.

He might as well break out some knitting needles too while he was at it.

Emily's nose wrinkled as she assessed her current dilemma . . . what to do with the cranky man flashing her the dirty look? Given that they had JUST gotten out of the jeep, it was a bit early in the shopping trip for cantankerous crankiness of any kind.

And while a slightly cranky Hotch was fun for teasing, a _genuinely_ cranky Hotch . . . the one who had just been grumbling right behind her . . . was no fun for anyone.

He was actually a major mood killer.

And she did know that it was a bit of an inconvenience for him to have to carry all of her, as he called it, 'crap.' Not that that was a _planned_ inconvenience, mind you. It wasn't until after they'd arrived at the store that she'd realized she forgot to put a smaller purse inside her hugely overstuffed beach bag. And given just how overstuffed it was, (clothes, towels, makeup kit, shoes, gun, credentials, etc., etc.) she really hadn't wanted to drag the whole bag inside with them. For one thing she would have looked like she'd just shoplifted half of the things in it. And for the other, well, it was just a LOT of shit to lug around!

But unfortunately some of that shit just couldn't stay in the jeep.

Like for instance . . . her lips pursed as she looked down at Hotch's half hidden left hand still fumbling her wallet into his pocket . . . everything this poor man was trying to shove into his pants.

All of the usual pocket stuff, and then of course . . . her eyes shot up two inches to Hotch's waist . . . there was the matter of her pistol.

It was sitting on his right hip.

That was opposite Hotch's own Sig which was sitting on his _left_ hip. Yes, the man was now wearing THREE guns for a simple shopping trip to their neighborhood Target. And she had to say, even for gun loving Virginia . . . Emily's eyes crinkled faintly at the looks they were getting from the other people in the parking lot . . . he sort of looked like a nut job.

But the gun DEFINITELY had needed to come inside with them. And unfortunately a gun belt just didn't really go with her ensemble. Not that she had one with her anyway. And her pistol plus holster were so heavy on their own, that if she'd tried to carry them without a gun belt, they would have yanked down her bikini bottoms. And given that full public genital exposure wasn't really a look that she was going for . . . at this moment in time she had no aspirations to date a professional basketball player . . . her Sig had to go with Hotch.

And sweet man that he was, he'd taken it with nary a word of complaint. Well okay, there was that put upon sigh and over exaggerated eye roll, but why mar the memory of a kind act with a little thing like actual details?

Exactly.

And seeing the furrow in his brow was persisting despite his progress in getting her stuff jammed into his pocket, she took two steps back to slip her arm through his . . . and then she started pouring it on thick.

It was the only way to wrap this one up.

"You're carrying my crap," she purred while tipping her head against his bicep and tugging him forward, "because you're a very nice, very sweet man. And once again, when we get back to my place tonight I will repay you, in a totally non-sexual fashion, for all of the aggravation I am currently, and will shortly, be causing you on this brief stopover," she patted his chest, "okay?"

Yes, she was being a teensy bit manipulative with the 'snuggling, womanly wiles' thing, but she'd noticed recently that Hotch's resolve to stay cranky, irritated, whatever, tended to crumble pretty quickly once the wiles had made an appearance.

It was an interesting development.

Of course on the rare occasion he did still drop the unequivocal "no, Emily!" on her, and actually (horrors) mean it, but she was hoping that this was not going to be one of those days.

After all, he had no more incentive to want to stay pissy today than she did for WANTING him to stay pissy. It was just going to ruin their nicely planned day.

And that would suck for everyone.

Feeling Emily's warm palm pressed against his heart, Hotch's jaw twitched once, and then twice . . . and then the tension started fading away.

Damn it.

Another perfectly good grumble foiled by the woman at his side. Of course he knew that Emily was attempting to 'handle' him into a better mood. But yet still, even knowing that was happening . . . AND knowing that he had the right to be at least a little bit annoyed at her poor planning skills . . . somehow, he was powerless to avoid actually _being_ handled. The annoyance was fading away.

It was something in her damn perfume, he was sure of it.

And then when his gaze shifted down to see her tucked against his side, he felt his expression softening further.

Yeah . . . he sighed as his eyes shifted back to the pavement . . . that was it. That was how she got him every time.

Being sweet and snuggly.

Even if he wasn't sleeping with the woman . . . and even if had no _desire _to sleep with the woman . . . these actions had become a lethal combination. And though some tiny part of him longed for the days when she couldn't wrap him around her little finger any time that she wanted to, mostly, he was okay with it. Emily brought a sparkle to his days.

To his life.

It was a sparkle that had been missing for a long time . . . probably since even before the divorce. And so when she tipped her head back to look up at him with that mischievous little smile that he'd grown so fond of recently, he felt his own lip curve involuntarily in response.

"Am I forgiven for being a complete pain in the ass?" She asked with a tiny wrinkle to her brow. And a second later, of course, he found himself nodding . . . because that's what he did.

He forgave her all sins.

"Yes," he sighed dramatically, "I suppose that you're forgiven." And then his eyebrow ratcheted up a half an inch as he stopped walking for a second.

"But just how much additional aggravation are you planning on causing me today?" He asked with a faint bit of concern, "because I really," he patted one of his overfilled pockets, "don't have the room to stuff anything else into my pants."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Hotch winced.

That was clearly NOT his best choice of phrasing. And there was just no way that Emily . . . of ALL people . . . was going to let that one go.

And sure enough, as her mouth started to quiver, he braced himself for whatever was coming next.

Because there was most definitely SOMETHING coming next.

Emily's lips twitched as her gaze dropped down to the crotch of Hotch's jeans.

"That's really good to know sir," she responded with a clearing of her throat, "because you know I medaled in pants stuffing, and if those babies are full, we're going to have to move on to a new pair."

Though she was quite sure that MOST of the time Hotch's little dry comments and innuendos were completely on purpose and intended to provide her with amusement . . . the earlier 'come faster' remark for instance . . . she could tell that in this instance . . . given the faint blush to his cheeks and reset of tension in his jaw . . . that _that_ bit of innuendo had been very much UNintentional.

Which made it even funnier.

Still though, she wasn't in a position to be majorly pushing his buttons right now . . . the point after all was to de-crankify him . . . so with the exception of the one remark (he would have thought she was having a stroke if she hadn't said ANYTHING) she let it slide.

For now.

Though she now had a veritable MOUNTAIN of "is that a 'insert joke here' in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me," comments just vibrating on the tip of her tongue, she knew it wasn't the time. But she did make a mental note to return to this topic tonight over their late day pizza and beer.

It would be way more fun to bust his chops then.

So in the meantime, as she plastered on a sweet smile, she knew that it was probably best to simply circle back to his actual question.

Her level of aggravation planned for this outing.

"Anyway," she started walking again, "moving away from the topic of how much room you have in your pants, and that's the last shot of the morning I promise, you should know that I'm not PLANNING on causing you any aggravation. But," Emily shrugged as she looked around the muggy parking lot, "it is hot, and it is back to school shopping weekend, so I'm guessing that all of those other people's children are probably going to be getting on your nerves pretty much from the get go. Therefore I just figured that we should keep our expectations low," she patted his stomach comfortingly, "you're just probably not going to enjoy yourself very much."

It was true. He probably wouldn't.

Hotch grunted faintly as he watched a group of rowdy teenagers entering the sliding doors just ahead of them.

"True," he murmured faintly as his steps began to drag again, "I'm probably not going to enjoy myself," then his brow wrinkled slightly as he thought about that point for a second.

"So," his gaze snapped down to Emily's, "why don't I just go back and wait in the jeep for you?"

There was a note of surprise in his voice. And that's because . . . oddly enough . . . it was the first time that the question had occurred to him. Even when Emily started pulling item after item out of her beach bag like a well-arsenalled Mary Poppins, no part of him thought, 'well this is stupid. She should just shove a twenty in her bikini top and I'll wait out here with the rest of her earthly possessions.'

But thinking about it _now_ . . . on the verge of entering what was likely to be an air conditioned level of hell . . . tax-free back to school shopping weekend . . . he realized that the thought of staying outside probably hadn't come to him earlier simply because whenever they were out together, where Emily went, he did too. So his subconscious had not even entertained the possibility of simply letting her go off shopping by herself.

They just didn't do that.

But now he was thinking that it was a fine time for them to START doing that. Just because Emily wanted to go buy a bottle of sunscreen and some pig thing, didn't mean that he needed to go ASSIST her with those tasks. Simply driving her to the store was more than enough 'support' on the shopping front.

But seeing the look of utter dismay that had just appeared on Emily's face . . . something akin to him suggesting puppy burgers for lunch . . . he knew that this one was not going to be an easy sell.

And sure enough . . . he internally groaned . . . her best weapon had just made an appearance.

The Pout.

And then she bit her lip in that way that only Emily could as she responded sadly.

"But it's no fun to shop if you stay outside."

Damn it.

In an effort to avoid immediate capitulation . . . those lips were nothing but green kryptonite in a shiny red lip gloss package . . . Hotch immediately dropped his eyes away from Emily's pretty face and down to the hot pavement beneath them.

As he looked at the ground for a split second, he tried to size up his countermove.

And then he had it.

The only way that he was getting back to the jeep now was to slip on his best 'puppy dog eyes.' Basically that involved some major eye to eye bonding in combination with some intense eyelash _fluttering_.

Yes, believe it or not . . . he lifted his head back to catch Emily's gaze . . . Little Miss String Bikini wasn't the only one that could unfairly manipulate the opposite gender. Though he used his powers more judiciously than she did, he was proud to say that he'd used the eye trick to spin her top a time or two in the past.

And today would be no different.

Except . . . his brow furrowed as she ROLLED her eyes back at him . . . it _was_ different.

Eye _rolling_? What the hell?

"Hotch," Emily clucked her tongue in a tsk tsk fashion, "come on. You can't work the eyes when I'm doing the pout. We'll spontaneously combust or something."

Seeing Hotch's jaw start to quiver in amusement . . . he'd given up on the lash fluttering as soon as she rolled her eyes back at him . . . Emily took the opportunity to keep moving them towards the entrance.

"We'll be in an out before you know it. And besides," she continued in the same dismissive tone while giving his arm a not so subtle tug forward, "do you _really_ think that I'm dressed to go wandering around in a public place all alone? What if I dropped something? If I bent over to pick it up, I'd look like Sharon Stone flashing her business around town."

That was true. But that wasn't really why she was dragging Hotch into the store with her. She was doing it simply because he was a good time.

That was the beginning and end of the conversation.

Though it was quite adorable that he thought fluttering those fabulous lashes at her would get him out of the shopping trip. Silly man. Those were only good when he wanted to pick the restaurant for dinner.

There was no out from shopping.

Hotch snorted as Emily practically dragged him into the crosswalk leading over to the sliding doors of the box store.

"So basically," he huffed while putting up a hand to thank the driver that had just stopped for them, "you're saying that you want me along to," his eyebrow rose up, "'protect your modesty'?"

Some of the things that the woman came out with were so insane that she made it impossible to come up with a good counterargument to them. Like for instance this one. Because really . . . he shot her skirt a look . . . the mini WAS pretty damn micro, and she most definitely could NOT bend over in it.

Skimpy bikini bottoms notwithstanding, she would definitely come off like some sort of Sharon Stone 'flashing her business.' And admittedly, that wasn't really an impression that he wanted her leaving with anyone. Emily was a classy girl.

And he didn't want anybody thinking that she wasn't.

"Yes," Emily nodded as they continued up to the sliding glass doors, "I need you for modesty protection, and of course," she made a general wave towards his crotchal region, "for pants stuffing."

Okay, she couldn't resist that last one. _Gandhi_, couldn't have resisted that last one!

"Sooo," she continued cheerfully while blatantly ignoring the overly dramatic eye roll she was receiving from the man at her side, "carriage or basket?"

Best to change the topic quickly before he had too much time to think, and . . . God forbid . . . assert free will.

Couldn't have that.

"I'm guessing that if there's a basket that I'll be carrying it?" Hotch responded drily.

Not that he minded carrying things for her . . . he just liked to have the point made, that he was indeed doing these things for _her_.

Nobody else got special treatment like this.

"No," Emily shook her head as they paused for a moment between the cart storage and the basket storage, "I can carry the basket," then she looked up at him with a soft smile, "but given the skirt situation, if I have to put it down then you have to pick it up. However_,_" her eyebrow quirked slightly, "if you want to get a _cart_," she jerked her thumb to the right, "then you can drive that bad boy all by yourself."

He liked to drive things.

It was his Man Gene.

"Oh," Hotch snorted as he started walking them towards the baskets, "kind of like you were nice enough to let me drive you over here to the store too. You really do have a heart of gold Prentiss."

Emily's nose wrinkled as she looked down at the red octagon Hotch was pulling out of the stack.

"So I guess you don't want to drive a cart?" She asked with a notable edge of disappointment.

Why didn't he want a cart? Then he would be happy driving and not grouchy at the annoying people in the store. Plus then she wouldn't have to carry her basket around.

A cart was a win all around.

Hotch tipped his head to look down at Emily . . . and seeing the little wrinkle in her nose and the faint pout had returned to her ruby red lips . . . his eyebrow rose up in confusion.

"But you said that you're only getting two small things," he responded in bewilderment, "so a basket should be more than sufficient for your shopping needs. Besides that though," he shook his head, "if you wanted to get a cart, why didn't you just say so?"

Rather than answer him immediately, Hotch watched in confusion as Emily frowned first down at her flip flops, and then up at him.

"Well," she responded with an accentuation of the pouty lips that drove him to do things that he didn't really want to do, "I was kind of hoping that you'd just decide on your own to get a cart. And then you won't get grouchy while we're shopping."

How was that logic so hard to follow? How could he not see the 'duh' in there?

Hotch stared at the lips for a moment before his gaze shifted up to the soft brown eyes just above them.

There was a look of genuine confusion there . . . he could very much appreciate the feeling.

And though he was sure that somewhere in that big brain of Emily's there was some sort of logical Emily'esque reasoning to whatever was happening right now with her basket versus cart, non-grouchy shopping reasoning, he also knew that at this moment, they had no time for her to verbally expand on that reasoning for him. Not if they wished to get to Dave's house before sundown.

So rather than inquiring further . . . i.e. asking what on GOD'S green earth she was talking about(!) . . . Hotch simply blinked once her at her remark before turning and dropping the basket back into the rack.

It slid in with a clatter.

As he walked over to the carts . . . sidestepping a boisterous family of five in the process . . . he saw the pout morph to a slow grin that slid across the pretty face.

And just like that . . . she was happy again.

He raised his eyebrow in amusement.

"Can we collect the plastic pig now?" He asked drily as he swung the cart around in front of her with a bounce of the tires, "Is this receptacle large enough to result in the 'non-grouchy' shopping? Whatever the hell that is."

"Ceramic pig," Emily responded with a happy nod as she walked up to Hotch and slipped her arm back through his, "and yes. Thank you. It's the perfect size receptacle for non-grouchy shopping."

See, now HE was driving and SHE was basket free!

Perfect!

Hotch knew that intellectually perhaps some slight irritation might be in order . . . the woman, and her thought processes, were at times infuriating in their otherworldliness. . . for some reason he couldn't find the emotion anywhere in him.

It just wasn't there.

Especially . . . he huffed slightly to himself as they began walking . . . with her again now wrapped completely around his side like an octopus.

She was rambling about her SPF options on sunscreen.

Perhaps there was no irritation because his soft spot for her had been growing ever larger as the weeks passed them by.

Or perhaps . . . he tipped his head slightly as another thought came to him . . . it was because she was just a tad bit jiggly today with no bra.

Yeah . . . he huffed to himself as he felt her untethered breasts pressed to his chest . . . okay, given that he was a breast man . . . and Emily possessed a very fine set of breasts . . . the latter argument was probably leading by a nose today.

Of course the latter argument was also the reason that she was getting looks from just about every male specimen that walked by them. And even if she wasn't his girl . . . not in that way . . . Hotch did feel a somewhat irrational boost of male pride at the realization that most of these men assumed that she was his. That the hot girl, with the hot body . . . he slipped his arm around her waist . . . was with him.

Of course it wasn't the first time that people had assumed they were a couple . . . it had been happening more and more frequently actually . . . but today was probably the first time that he decided to simply embrace the moment. Because really, if he was honest with himself, he just wasn't in the mood to watch her get hit on by any other men.

Given what she was wearing . . . or more specifically NOT wearing . . . it would be a tad bit too emasculating.

Seriously, he couldn't imagine the humiliation of having a gorgeous, _braless,_ woman in a micro mini skirt wrapped around his side, WHILE she's picking up phone numbers right in front of him.

He might as well just go back and hand in his penis at the door!

And given that it was unlikely in the extreme that Emily was destined to run into her soul mate on this minor little shopping trip . . . he tugged her a little closer against his side . . . he had a far better approach to the day.

One that would allow him to avoid looking like a complete eunuch.

So for the next twenty minutes . . . as they circled around the store looking for the ceramic pigs . . . he simply played the part of Protective Boyfriend with Permanent Scowl.

It kept all of the drooling gomers at bay.

As it was, Emily seemed completely oblivious both to the droolers and his handling of them. She was just leaning against his side pointing and chattering on about their fellow shoppers and the various items for purchase that caught her attention.

Not that she was picking up much beyond the planned shopping list. Mostly she was being good . . . though they still hadn't found the pigs. But the sunscreen had been collected . . . two tubes, face and body . . . plus she'd grabbed The Breakfast Club from the five dollar rack of DVDs.

She said it was quote, "an impulse item that could not be denied," end quote.

Either way, they were doing pretty well on time. And there wasn't much of the store left that they hadn't already covered, so the pigs would be found in the next ten minutes, or they would not be found at all.

And Hotch was just about to make the silly suggestion that they just ASK an associate where they might be, when suddenly a display caught his attention. And he knew then that all efforts to run down those pigs had just gotten completely derailed.

There were cupcakes ahead.

And sure enough, a split second later Emily spotted them too.

"Oooh!" She squealed, "cupcakes are on sale!"

Seeing her level of enthusiasm, Hotch's lips twitched for a split second before he sobered up again.

"They aren't really cupcakes," he intoned flatly as they walked closer, "they're just little globules of insoluble chemicals melded into rounded cupcake form. They'll outlive your coffin."

Of course she was going to buy them regardless of the truthfulness of his remarks . . . by his observations, there was not the slightest bit of nutritional value to any of her preferred snack cakes . . . but still, it needed to be said. Because maybe if he said it _often_ enough, then one of these days she would finally listen. And if she didn't, well, he'd just start switching out her snack cakes for carrot sticks.

Kind of like he had to do for Jack.

Emily opted to respond to Hotch's Standard Debbie Downer routine with a simple . . . good natured . . . roll of her eyes.

It wouldn't be a day out with Hotch if there wasn't some commentary made on her junk food intake. Yes, she knew that she ate a decent amount of crap. But it was DELICIOUS crap!

Seriously, who turns down a Hostess cupcake! Terrorists, that's who! Terrorists and Hotch.

That was about it.

But that was a conversation to have with him on a different day. Because today, as they stopped in front of the Hostess display, she knew that she needed to refocus on the mission at hand.

Which _flavor_ of cupcakes should she get?

Well . . . she tapped her finger on her chin . . . they _were_ on sale, so there was no reason really that she couldn't get _more_ than one kind. And she wasn't being piggish with that approach, she was just being practical. It's not like they were going to go bad. After all, they were supposedly made to withstand a nuclear holocaust or something. Her brow wrinkled . . . or was that just Twinkies?

Eh . . . she shook her head slightly . . . whatever. They were all made out of the same insoluble chemical crap. Yes, again, just because she ignored Hotch's healthy eating warnings didn't mean that she wasn't entirely aware that all of this stuff was very bad for her. Duh! A nuclear bomb couldn't kill it! So CLEARLY she shouldn't be putting into her body!

But she would put them into her body . . . because they tasted yummy.

And that was the end of that.

Hotch gave a once over to the shoppers passing them by, before looking down to see Emily staring intently at the cupcake display.

His eyes dropped to his watch.

He was giving it thirty seconds before he reminded her that they had someplace that they needed to be, and that if she was buying both cupcakes AND pigs, then she needed to get a move on.

Twenty-two seconds later . . . just as he was about to breakout Mr. Anal Retentive Punctuality Guy, he was kind of a pain in the ass . . . Emily reached over and grabbed a box of chocolate cupcakes. It went into the cart.

But she didn't stop with the one box.

Or the two.

"Prentiss," Hotch queried with a raised eyebrow as the third box was knocked off the shelf, "how many boxes exactly are we, you, getting? You do realize that they're just on _sale_, right? It's not like they'll NEVER be selling Hostess cupcakes again."

At least he didn't think so. But it seemed like something that would be on the news.

Cupcake news.

"Yes Hotch," Emily answered with a distracted head shake, "I do realize that this is simply a sale. I just figured that I'd stock up." Then she shot him a quick grin. "And maybe leave a box or three at your apartment too."

"Oh you think so, huh?" Hotch asked with a faint smirk, and Emily nodded back as she leaned up on her tiptoes to grab a box of the yellow cakes from the top shelf, "I sure do. It's important that I feel welcome in your home, so you really should stock up on more of my favorite things."

Hotch snorted . . . and then burst out laughing.

"Prentiss," he huffed with a chuckle, "you are, by far, my favorite mentally disturbed person."

"Thanks," Emily turned to shoot him a toothy grin, "ditto!"

Hotch's lips twitched as he stared at her for a moment. Then she winked at him . . . and he responded in kind, which in turn made her giggle as she turned back to her cupcake retrieval.

He was about to say something else . . . something else to make her laugh, he did love to listen to her laugh . . . when suddenly he took note that they . . . or more specifically Emily . . . was garnering a bit of attention.

With her on her tip toes, her skirt had ridden up to . . . well . . . if he didn't know that she was wearing a swim suit under there, he'd assume that her shapely little ass was about to make a command appearance.

Not that he spent a lot of time staring at her ass, but it was quite shapely, and . . .

Hotch shook his head as he realized his brain was perhaps going down a bad road. One where Emily's ass became an object of internal pondering and reflection.

That wasn't 'friend appropriate' reflection.

Simple admiration for her fine physique was one thing, objectifying her ass like she was a mindless sex object . . . basically some woman that he didn't know . . . was something else. A something else that he'd just noticed a group of gawking teenage boys was presently doing. And after shooting them a nasty look . . . though unfortunately only two of them withered under the heat, apparently the power of Emily's ass was greater than that of his scowl . . . he nudged the cart slightly so that he could step behind the object of their attention.

He slipped his arm around her waist.

"Better let me get them down," he murmured in her ear as he reached over her head with his other arm, "before you cause a pubescent riot."

"What?" Emily whipped her head around as she dropped back down to flat feet. And seeing the group of boys laughing as they walked away, her cheeks started to get hot.

"Oh," she murmured with a faint tug on her skirt, "right."

And here she'd only been worried about bending over. But apparently up on her tiptoes was an even MORE exposed position! And THIS was why she didn't wear mini-skirts out and about!

All of the inadvertent flashing!

Feeling Hotch's arm tighten around her waist as he pulled down the box that she'd been reaching for, she patted his hand.

"Thanks," she murmured as he dropped the box into the cart, "you know for, um," she looked up at him with a sheepish smile, "protecting my modesty."

"No problem," he answered with a half a dimple, "that was my purpose here, right?"

"Right," then she grinned, "that and carrying all my crap around of course."

Hotch tipped his head, "of course." Then he looked back and forth between the cart and the cupcake display.

"So," he cleared his throat in a slightly awkward fashion, "have I stocked up on enough of your favorite things? Or do I need to get additional flavors of cupcakes down so that you'll spend next Sunday with me?"

God . . . he groaned internally . . . really smooth segue way there Aaron.

Idiot.

"Ooh!" Emily's face lit up as she pressed her hands to Hotch's chest, "what are we doing next Sunday?"

Usually she was the one that was suggesting outings or activities for them. So it was really nice . . . and surprising(!) . . . that Hotch was coming up with something for them to do all on his own.

Well, something besides kick in a door.

Not that that wasn't fun too. But it was really more of a nine to five activity.

"Well," Hotch's lip quirked up at Emily's enthusiasm for plans she hadn't yet heard, "I thought that maybe we could go to the gun show up in Annapolis. And then I thought that maybe we could have dinner at that French place in Georgetown that you've been wanting to try. And _then_," Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he reached up to brush a strand of hair back behind Emily's ear, "if you want, you could maybe come back to my house and have coffee and you can eat some of your chemically insoluble cupcakes while we watch a movie. You know," he cleared his throat again as he tried to shrugged indifferently, "if you want."

Short of time spent with Jack, that sounded like a perfect afternoon/evening to him. And he was fairly sure that Emily would feel the same way. But he didn't want to sound overeager . . . or too cocky.

Then he'd feel like a real sap if she already had other plans.

But he was trying to make more of an effort to even out the uneven bits in their relationship. And planning their off duty social activities, that . . . more often than not . . . was all Emily. And he'd been thinking that he should try to be a little more pro-active on that front. To try to think of things that she would like to do, rather than the other way around.

It would even things up.

And to his delight, he could see that Emily was now nodding excitedly to his plans. It seemed that she did approve.

Excellent.

"I DO want!" Emily grinned, "that sounds like an awesome afternoon!"

"Seriously?" Hotch asked with a raised eyebrow, "all good?"

That would be pretty impressive for his first effort at this socializing crap.

"Yep," Emily sighed happily as she leaned forward to slip her arms around Hotch's waist.

"All great," she murmured against his chest as he rubbed her back.

Wow. Left to his own devices, he'd actually planned a cool afternoon for them. The man actually had SOCIAL skills! Who knew!

Though, as he pressed a kiss to her temple, she realized that one important point hadn't been fully ironed out.

She tipped her head back.

"Wait," her brow went up, "what movie are we going to watch?"

Having not yet had a chance to really snoop through Hotch's DVD collection, this was an important point. If he had 'slim pickins' then she might just have to offer to bring something from home.

Since the Lord of The Rings discussion/viewings, she'd discovered an endless collection of 'modern classics' that Hotch had not yet seen.

And there was no way that she was letting him die without experiencing the glory that was Bubba Ho-Tep.

"Um," Hotch jiggled his head slightly as he tried to picture his DVD case, "well, half of my movie collection is rated G and under, so that does limit things a bit. But how about," his eyebrow went up at he looked down at her, "The Rock?"

It was a bit of an oldie, but he figured that would be an agreeable choice. More guns, plus men in uniform.

Two of Emily's favorite playthings.

And sure enough, he saw her face light up again as she looked up at him.

"Ooh!" She squealed, "gun show, a fancy dinner, cupcakes AND Michael Biehn! It's like Christmas in a month besides December or July!"

This was going to be like a PERFECT afternoon! And if it somehow got ruined by some asshole serial killer/rapist/abductor that forced her to miss it, she was definitely going to be kicking some MAJOR ass!

Feeling a wave of affection and happiness wash over him, Hotch started to laugh as he moved his hand up to tuck Emily back to his chest.

And as her felt her breath tickle his throat, he wanted to say something more to her. To thank her for agreeing to spend another afternoon with him. To tell her how happy he was that she was in his life.

To tell her happy he was that they were friends.

But unfortunately he wasn't yet comfortable expressing his affection for her in that way.

Verbally.

The last woman that he'd shared himself with that openly was Haley. And even if the nature of his relationship with Emily was entirely different than that of a wife, the sense of vulnerability . . . the knowledge that this was a person . . . _another _person . . . that could now hurt him, was not new. That knowledge was old.

And it was terrifying.

The hugs though . . . since he'd gotten the hang of them again . . . they were easy. And now they were necessary. It was a soft door. A way to slip back into that world of trusting someone with not just his life, but his true self as well.

The words could come later.

But for now, as Emily bubbled excitedly against his chest about the new laser sights that she'd read about on the latest batch of S & W's tactical rifles, he was just happy to have another good day coming. And so as he looked down at this woman who had started to become the source of so many good days, his lips curved in a faint smile.

"So," he asked with a raised eyebrow, "you want to stand here and talk guns, or do you want to run down those pigs?"

He was fine either way, but he knew that she didn't want to be late getting to Dave's.

"Oh right," Emily looked up at Hotch and then down to their cart, "the pigs." She picked up Hotch's hand to see his watch. "Eh," she looked back up at him with a little smile and a shrug. "It's okay. We can do pigs another time."

It was closing in on eleven thirty. And if they didn't get a move on, they were going to be late for Dave's party. Yeah, the pig sale was good, but it wasn't like it was a 'necessary' purchase. It was a ceramic pig.

There would be others in the world.

So with a smile on her face . . . and five boxes of cupcakes in her cart . . . she slipped her hand into Hotch's.

"Okay, let's get a move on sir," she squeezed his fingers, "we're burning daylight."

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: You'll notice they are more affectionate here than prior summer outtakes (both physically and with their thoughts) and that's because it is moving into September. The point in Girl where they actually are obviously falling in love. And this is just the first of the offshoots that's hit them at this transitional period of their friendship attachment starting to shift to something more. Also, the idea of them having regular Sunday night movies (an idea first established in Girl with the watching of the Rings trilogy) appeals to me as a good bonder. _

_Bubba Ho-Tep actually IS a good movie. Granted, it's a bizarre movie that sounds completely ridiculous if you attempt to describe it, and that's because the plot is kind of insane. But regardless, I very much enjoyed it._

_Of course there is more to this story, they haven't even gotten to the Dave's, so we're not wrapped up yet.  
><em>

_I have another chapter of another tale almost done. So next posting will hopefully be this week. But again, my muses have been scattering into the wind, so I make no promises :)_


	3. Me?  Jealous?  Pfft

**Author's Note: **This went in a direction not planned. But, so often they do :) So if you were expecting a lot of team interaction and fun pool stuff, expect again! Just didn't happen. Though they are now at Dave's house, and Em is in her bikini so that at least that much _did_ happen.

Overall though, the undertone here you'll see here is their relationship beginning to shift. It started a bit with the earlier chapters, but if you're familiar with the larger Girl'verse, then you'll know September is when it started to become obvious they were no longer "just" friends. And this storyline takes place the last few days in August, so the tide is beginning to turn.

**Shameless Self Promotion: **The Profiler's Choice CM Awards are running again, and any support is appreciated :) Here's the link (with spaces), and ballots close October 15th. Thanks!

www . fanfiction u/ 2507361 / Profilers_Choice_CM_Awards

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_I have a new website. If interested, you can read more about it (and my future on FF . net) on my Tumblr listed below. It's the June 10__th__ note._

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also random randomness that is my brain._

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* * *

><p><strong>Me? Jealous? Pfft.<strong>

Emily rolled her neck and stretched her back. Then she moved her arms up into a straight V . . . took a deep breath . . . and bounded off the edge of the blue diving board.

A split second later her body sliced cleanly down into the clear, crystalline water beneath her. Ten seconds after that, her head broke back through the surface of the pool.

And she nearly yelped in pain.

The water was _FREEZING!_ Like, _'oh my dear GOD, why have you FORSAKEN me'_ freezing! Jesus! She would have expected that someone with Dave Rossi's PILES of money would have had the pool heated . . . hell, she would have if SHE'D had his bank accounts(!) . . . but no.

_Most DEFINITELY no,_ she repeated to herself as she started shaking. The water was BEYOND frigid! And that was a fact further emphasized by the general heat and humidity of the day. It was like she'd jumped out of an oven and into a meat locker.

Naked.

Okay, she wasn't actually _naked_, naked, but she might as well have been for all the warmth a string bikini provided. And Emily's body was now fully wracked with chills as she blinked to clear the chlorine and runny mascara from her eyes.

They were starting to sting.

And though her first instinct . . . only instinct really . . . was to just jump right back up onto the deck and race into the house for a hot shower, unfortunately that wasn't really an option. For one thing it wasn't actually her house, but the other problem was, in addition to the goosebumps that she knew were now covering her body, Emily could also sense another issue had 'popped up' as a result of the cold water. And that issue was the state of her nipples.

They had just LEAPT to attention.

Like, looking down right below the surface of the water, she could see two perfect little pebbles poking out of the bright blue cloth covering her breasts. And she found herself biting back a groan as she tried to decide what to do about her current situation. She couldn't stay in the damn pool unless she was looking to catch hypothermia. But here she was with a set of nipples that were busting out all over, and there were close to a dozen people (half of them men, who were going to stare the bikini) hanging out around the pool and the deck enclosure . . . and she had nothing to cover up with.

She'd left her towel thrown across the back of her lounge chair. And her _lounge_ chair was WAY down at the other end of the enormous pool. The shallow end.

Where Derek was.

And Derek . . . let's face it . . . was really her biggest problem here.

Because a group of general party going acquaintances (she'd met Dave's neighbors a few times now) might be polite enough to not comment when she climbed out of the water and paraded by them, half naked, dripping wet, with her nips standing at attention.

But Derek Morgan would definitely _not_ be so polite.

Presently she could see that he was distracted carousing and splashing around with Will, Reid, and three of Dave's neighbors.

They were all playing catch in the shallow end of the pool.

But as soon as Morgan saw her walk by, the shit would hit the fan. There would either be a cat call . . . resulting in gales of half drunken male laughter . . . or a construction worker type joke (one that they would also all think was hilarious) that would result in her need to kick Derek Morgan's ass as soon as she wasn't dressed like a jiggly extra from an Icelandic PORN shoot!

And damn it . . . she scowled to herself . . . she was REALLY hoping to not have to spill any blood today! But now stupid Dave and his stupid ice water pool had totally screwed up that plan! There ought to be a law about this shit!

With Emily alone in the deepest part of the water, shivering and treading water . . . while continuing to debate her best course of action/revenge . . . she was suddenly startled by a splash off to her left.

Her head whipped around.

And there . . . on the opposite side of the deep end . . . was Hotch with one hand dripping wet.

And the other hand holding her towel.

"Forget something?" Hotch asked Emily with a little smile.

Good God, she looked like a damn popsicle. Seriously . . . he restrained an eye roll . . . even from four feet away, her lips and skin were a disturbing shade of blue.

Smurfette in a matching blue string bikini.

Emily shot Hotch an enormous, toothy grin.

"Oh Aaron, you are the BEST!" She exclaimed as she began to swim over. "Seriously," she reached the edge of the pool, "you are bucking for SUPER chief of the year!"

THIS was why she loved this man! Protecting her modesty up high, down low, and even in the middle of the floating meat locker!

"Hmph," Hotch snorted as he moved back to let Emily get out of the pool, "I didn't know that Super Chief was a thing, but yes," he added while watching with some amusement as the goosebumped Emily . . . with her _rigidly_ protruding nipples . . . hopped up onto the concrete ledge, "I agree. I definitely should win this award."

Jesus . . . he dropped the towel onto her shoulders . . . her skin was even bluer up close! And she was shaking so badly that he wouldn't have been surprised if she vibrated herself right back into the pool. Honestly . . . he huffed to himself . . . if anyone could do such a thing, it would be Emily.

So as she pulled her knees up to her chest, he started rubbing his hands up and down her arms and legs, trying to warm her up.

Really, he was just trying to get her skin back to a shade of "Human." But because she was so quiet while he was doing it . . . though he wasn't actually sure that she could form words with her teeth chattering that loudly . . . he found the need to bust her chops ever so slightly.

"So," he asked with a rhetorical smirk, "was the water cold?"

Emily tipped her head back to look up at Hotch hovering over her. But there was a slight glare from the sun so she had to squint to see him.

"Uh, huh," she chattered back, "and I have a set of nipples that will cut glass if you need any proof."

Though she had no desire to let Morgan take a crack at her nips on parade, Emily had no problem whatsoever sharing her little problem with Hotch. The difference being of course that Hotch was a sweetie who brought her towel over to the water's edge to cover her up . . . and Derek would have tossed that towel over the fence. Or perhaps just right into the pool.

That about summed up her respective relationships with the two men.

"Okay," Hotch shook his head slightly, "that was some vivid imagery there thank you, Prentiss. But I'm going to take your word for it without the glass cutting demonstration." Then his gaze momentarily flickered down to her now partially towel draped breasts, "because I had actually anticipated that you might have a little uh," he cleared his throat, "_difficulty_, with the temperature of the water."

It had been MORE than apparent to him that she was going to have an issue with the temperature of water! For one thing, the woman was always cold. She'd actually been "a bit chilly" when a light breeze blew across the back deck while they were eating lunch.

The air temperature was still ninety two degrees.

And then when she'd gone in to go to the bathroom, he'd headed down to the pool and dipped his hand into the water. The temperature could best be described as "arctic." That's why the others were jumping around playing catch in the shallow end.

They were trying to keep warm.

But Emily hadn't listened to him when he told her it was too cold for swimming. Which was why he was wondering why he was now getting a scowl from the woman as he pulled her up to her feet.

"If you knew it was so cold why didn't you _say_ something?" Emily huffed in irritation, "I could lose a limb here!"

Okay, maybe he_ wasn't_ such a sweetie!

Hotch blinked as his arms dropped to his side. Then he paused for a moment to stare at Emily in disbelief.

"Why didn't I . . .? What the . . .? Are you . . ."

The words came out as nothing but unintelligible sputters . . . and then he stopped. That was right before his jaw began to twitch.

And then his temper flared.

"I _did_ tell you_ Prentiss_," Hotch ground back tightly while guiding her away from the water's edge, TWO times I told you the water was too cold for you to go swimming. But _apparently_ you weren't paying any attention to me! Because I believe that was when you were FLIRTING with Javier!"

Javier was a neighbor kid from Dave's block. He'd recently dropped out of his senior year at GWU, and then his parents had proceeded to cut off his trust fund until he agreed to go back to school. A solid parenting approach in Hotch's opinion, but Dave had disagreed. So he'd taken pity on the kid's fiscal situation . . . he had no money to go drinking . . . and asked him to play bartender for the day.

The kid . . . and he was indeed 'a _kid_'. . . was twenty-one, RIPPLING with muscles, and had been completely SANS shirt, since his arrival at Dave's house two hours earlier.

When he showed up they'd practically needed a SPATULA to pry the women off of him!

It was admittedly somewhat 'emasculating' to suddenly become entirely invisible. And with all due modesty, being invisible to the opposite sex was a new experience for Aaron Hotchner. He'd been able to get a woman's attention . . . when he wanted it . . . since he'd discovered the power of the dimples.

He was about thirteen then.

But apparently that power was beginning to fade. Because it was now QUITE clear that Emily hadn't heard a God damn word that he'd said the WHOLE time they'd been up on the back deck! He'd known that she was "distracted" with Javier, but now it was clear that the kid had been the SOLE focus of her attention!

Nice.

Honestly . . . Hotch grunted to himself . . . it was a good thing that he and Emily were just friends, because if they were actually "in a relationship," he'd probably have been pretty pissed off right about then.

Emily's jaw dropped. She was reeling trying to think of a comeback for Hotch's DEAD ON accusation!

She decided to go with indignation . . . it was her only shot at winning this one.

"Uh," she faked a disgusted snort, "I wasn't _flirting_ with Javier! I just was trying to get his attention so he'd make my DAIQUIRI!"

That was a lie. She was totally flirting. The kid was REALLY hot! Yes, he was also half her age, but it's not like she was trying to drag him home with her. She was just having some fun.

And he had some FABULOUS dimples!

Hotch's eyebrow went up in disbelief.

"_Really?"_ He huffed as his arms crossed at his chest, "_that's_ what were you were doing up on the deck? Trying get his attention, for your _daiquiri?_"

"_Yes!" _

That time Emily went for clipped and snooty . . . again, it was all she had in the box.

"All right then," Hotch's eyebrow went up another notch, "do you mind telling me why exactly you were pretending to drop your sunglasses behind him on the grass? Was that _also_ to get his attention for your '_daiquiri_'? Or was it perhaps," Hotch shot her a nasty scowl, "so he'd have to lean over in front of you with those RIDICULOUS short shorts on?"

It was an embarrassing display . . . on both parts. He'd never seen Emily flirting before. And he'd never seen a grown man wear shorts that small before.

And he'd once worked a vice case in San Francisco.

"What?! I wasn't PRETENDING!" Emily sputtered back with more faux indignation . . . though this time while tossing her wet hair theatrically over her shoulder.

"I _did_ drop them!" Then her brow darkened slightly, "people DO drop stuff you know, Hotch. It's not _always_ a come on."

Though this time it absolutely was. Javier had a great ass too! Not that she telling Hotch that. It was embarrassing enough getting caught flirting, Hotch didn't need any more ammo right now.

He seemed pretty steamed up already.

"Emily!" Hotch finally threw his hands up in frustration, "you dropped them THREE times! And you were giggling like a GEISHA each time he handed them back to you! I'm surprised you didn't break out a God damn FAN to cover your FACE!"

Realizing then that his voice had gotten a little loud . . . and high . . . Hotch quickly eyeballed the pool enclosure.

Fortunately Dave had an Olympic sized pool (practically) so the enclosure surrounding it was fairly large. And half the guests were still making noise playing catch in the pool, while the other half were drinking and talking in the sun.

And nobody seemed to have noticed the volume of their 'conversation.' So Hotch dropped his eyes back down to Emily.

Her face was starting to get red.

"Well, I . . . um . . ."

Realizing that she was about to lose the battle, and knowing that she had nothing left but "genuine" emotions, Emily half scowled half pouted up at Hotch.

"Just, well . . . shut up!"

God, why did he have to totally call her out on her bullshit! Why wouldn't he let her have her harmless little five minutes of flirtation! After all, it's not like she had behaved as shamelessly as JJ had!

She was PREGNANT and tossing her sunglasses in the grass!

Feeling his anger fading, Hotch's lips began to twitch at Emily's verbal . . . and visual . . . response to his last comment.

That pout always killed him.

"Eloquent comeback," he responded with a clearing of his throat, "were you on the debate team?"

Emily tried to hold the scowl a few seconds longer, but it was just too difficult when she could see the little twinkle that had formed in Hotch's eye. She'd already lost this one, and it was hard to stay cranky when he was amused.

And so her mouth started to quiver . . . but then she quickly covered it with a smirk.

"You're just jealous."

"Yeah," Hotch snorted derisively as he dropped his arms down from his chest and began walking towards the side gate. "That's it," he called back over his shoulder, "I'm 'jealous.' I was hoping that _I_ could be the one to keep digging your sunglasses up out of the weeds by the back deck."

Jealous, right. That would be pretty ridiculous given that he and Emily didn't have that kind of relationship. The kind where he got . . . or had the RIGHT . . . to feel that emotion at all. He was just annoyed that he'd been ignored.

That's all.

"Thought so," Emily murmured triumphantly as she hurried up behind Hotch. And then . . . hearing his faint huff, right before he shot her a sideways glance . . . she reached out to take his hand.

She looked up at him with a soft smile.

"So do you want me to throw something on the ground for you to pick up?" she asked with a squeeze of his fingers. "Maybe a belt? I probably have a spare earring in my bag."

This was how they always made up after a fight . . . with a joke. And though the fight was minor . . . barely a tiff really . . . they still needed to make up. That's why their relationship was so healthy.

Not even the little stuff festered.

"No," Hotch's mouth began to quiver, "that's fine, thank you Prentiss. I'll just admire your accessories from afar. We can play Cinderella another day," then his lip quirked up, "you should just start carrying a spare shoe and I'll let you know when to drop it."

And with that . . . and Emily now chuckling at his side . . . Hotch let his remaining aggravation with her behavior, fade away.

It was a silly thing to argue about anyway. What difference did it make to him really if she wanted to flirt with some shirtless guy? None. No difference at all. They were just friends. That's it.

And that's what he told himself again as he opened the gate and guided Emily thru.

And the thought was still rolling around in his mind when they started up the hill towards the house. But then Hotch noticed that Emily still had the shivers.

And all other thoughts vanished from his head.

She looked better than when she'd first vibrated out of the pool . . . her teeth had at least stopped chattering . . . but her color still wasn't back to normal.

Her lips had moved up from Smurf to Sky.

And though they were by no means alone . . . the yard was quite open and people were wandering around in Dave's various 'hospitality' stations . . . Hotch found himself reaching out to wrap his arm around Emily's shoulders.

He wanted to warm her up.

'_I'd do the same thing for JJ or Garcia too_,' he tried to tell himself . . . though he knew that was a lie.

He would only do this for her.

"I'm going to get your shirt wet," Emily mumbled when Hotch pulled her against his side.

But he just shrugged and started rubbing his hand up and down her arm again.

"Eh. Just a bit damp," he dismissed, "and either way I brought another one if I need it."

Though he hadn't actually gone swimming . . . and had no intention of jumping in the pool before he went home . . . he had put on his swim trunks, and brought a full change of clothes just in case he got wet.

Which was why he decided to keep his arm around Emily for the rest of their walk up to the house. And though they were quiet, it was a comfortable silence.

But to keep that comfortable silence . . . he didn't want to fall back into the little back and forth by the pool . . . he made a point of bypassing the grilling/bartending area over by the back deck.

That would be the area where the shirtless Javier was . . . even now with two of Dave's cougar neighbors hovering over him . . . waving wildly at Emily.

She clearly was his favorite.

But Hotch really couldn't blame him for that one. Even when she'd been walking around with the blouse and mini-skirt covering her bikini, she was . . . undisputedly . . . still the hottest woman in the yard.

That was just an empirical fact.

And he would have expected Emily to be pleased by this unsolicited attention from . . . honestly . . . the only man he'd ever seen her flirt with, at all. But to his surprise . . . and faint amusement . . . he noted that Emily's response to Javier's yelling her name, was simply to tuck her head down. Then she slunk into his side.

Apparently her fascination with half-dressed gigolos had passed.

And though Hotch found this turn of events curious . . . and it pleased him in a way he didn't quite understand . . . he chose to not comment. He'd already busted her chops about the blatant flirting, and he wasn't getting into that again.

It wasn't worth it.

So he just gave her arm a light pat as they continued over to the house so she could change.

After he'd pulled open the sliding glass door, he let go of Emily so she could step inside.

As he followed her into the great room directly off the deck, Hotch noted that, though there was no Dave . . . he hadn't been seen in at least an hour . . . there were about a dozen of his male friends and neighbors hanging out around the fifty inch flat screen.

There was a Redskins pre-season game on so the men were . . . as a collective . . . simultaneously drinking and yelling at the television.

Normal behavior for the male species in a social environment.

But then as they started across the room, a few of the men began to engage in some other 'normal male species behavior.' Though this was the kind of behavior that got Hotch pretty pissed off.

They were looking at Emily.

But not just 'looking' . . . they were leering. And it was drunken leering of Emily's legs, ass, and well, basically her whole body.

The towel didn't cover all that much.

And seeing how blatant . . . and unrepentant . . . the attention was, Hotch found his brow darkening even further. Given that this was mostly a room full of (supposedly) happily married men, he didn't care for these guys looking at her at all. Let alone the WAY that they were looking at her. It was sleazy.

_They_ were sleazy.

So as he and Emily cut over behind one of the sofas, he slipped his arm around her waist. Then he pressed his fingers into the bare skin on her hip . . . it was just above the knot of her bikini . . . and pulled her close.

Though he held no particular 'claim' to Emily . . . they were just friends . . . he still was feeling rather protective of her at that moment. And she didn't push him away . . . she never had . . . so he decided to just do what he wanted to do.

After making sure that his grip on her was visibly tight and that 'ownership' was clear, he caught the eyes of each of the scumbags . . . five and counting . . . and then he made sure that they looked away.

Nervously.

And then feeling a little better about the situation . . . or at least less like he wanted to punch somebody in the head, repeatedly, until they were bloodied and unconscious . . . Hotch continued moving them around the far end of the room, across one of the runners covering the hardwood, and out to the front hall.

As he started them towards the main staircase, and the noise from the group faded, Hotch loosened his grip slightly. And that's when he felt Emily roll her head onto his shoulder.

Her hair was still wet.

"You walking me upstairs?" Emily asked softly, her fingers twisting nervously in the edges of the towel.

Hotch nodded back.

"Yeah," he murmured back, "Dave said that he just finished a new book I might like. Something on the Battle of Antietam. I'm going to stop into the library and grab it before I forget."

Emily nodded slowly.

"'K."

And then as they started up the staircase, she continued in the same subdued tone.

"So um, did you want to stick around, or," she rubbed her cheek on his shoulder and sighed, "I don't know, do something else?"

Though they'd only been at the party for a few hours . . . it wasn't even three . . . Emily was really hoping that Hotch would say that he wanted to leave. Because she wanted to leave.

The guys in the living room had completely sceeved her out.

Of course she was the one that had chosen to wear the skimpy bathing suit . . . and she'd known this would likely be a gathering beyond just the team . . . but she had kind of forgotten the type of reactions an outfit like this elicited from _some_ members of the male species. And walking through that room, having those men looking at her like they wanted to rip her suit off . . . and that was most _definitely_ the look . . . had made her feel really uncomfortable.

And dirty.

She just wanted to go home, put on her fuzzy pajamas, and curl up on the couch until that feeling had faded away.

All with Hotch of course.

There was no point in curling up on the couch to feel better, if there was no Hotch to curl up on the couch to MAKE her feel better.

"Um," Hotch's brow wrinkled slightly as he looked down at Emily leaning against his side . . . her eyes were on the carpet.

"I hadn't actually thought about it," he continued with a faint note of confusion, "I'd just assumed that you wanted to stay at least until dinner time, no?"

"Eh," Emily's nose wrinkled as they reached the landing, "not really." Then she turned to give him a faint smile, "if you're not looking to stay, and had nothing else in mind, I'd kind of prefer to just go back to my place."

Hotch stopped at the top of the stairs, his brow now morphing from faint confusion to outright concern.

"Are you feeling okay?" He asked worriedly while pressing the back of his hand against her cheek, and then her forehead, "not having a relapse, right?"

It had been less than two weeks ago since she'd come down with that horrible virus. And though it had been a good six or seven days since he'd seen her coughing or sneezing, that wasn't to say that she didn't still have some latent germs in there.

Something just waiting for her resistance to get run down again.

And though her skin was cool under his, that wasn't really a good indicator of anything. She'd just taken a bath in ice water, and Dave had the air conditioning cranked.

Still though . . . Hotch's arm dropped back to his side . . . he supposed if she had a fever then her skin would have been at least a little warm. But if she wasn't feeling sick, he didn't know what the problem could be. It was pretty unusual that she'd want to leave a party so soon.

Well, at least one that she'd been looking forward to as much as this one.

Seeing that Hotch was getting worried . . . and knowing that the last time he got 'worried' they ended up spending the evening at the emergency room . . . Emily quickly moved to alleviate whatever stray 'germ related' fears that were popping into his brain.

He did tend to get worked up when it came to her health.

"No, no, Aaron," she shook her head firmly. "I feel okay. Not sick at all. I just, well," she shrugged slightly, "I'm cold and wet, and," her nose wrinkled again, "being cold and wet is kind of a downer. I'm just not having that great a time anymore. I want to go home, put on fuzzy pajamas, order takeout and watch a movie. You know," then her lip quirked up slightly as she slipped her arm around his waist, "just like you promised we could do."

Though she knew that if she told him the real reason she wanted to go . . . that those men had creeped her out . . . he'd whisk her out the door in two seconds, but she was actually a little embarrassed to explain to him how she felt.

Though she shared more with Hotch than anyone else in her life, ever, the thought of telling him how those men had looked at her, how vulnerable and exposed she'd felt, it just didn't sit right. It was really something that only another woman would understand.

Men just didn't have to put up with this shit.

Though Hotch was still a bit surprised that Emily wanted to leave, what she said made he sense. He could definitely understand how the cold water would have given a 'metaphorical dousing' to her enjoyment of the day. So once he'd accepted her words as truth . . . that she wasn't sick, just tired of hanging out . . . he couldn't stop his lips twitching slightly at her plans for the evening.

"You know I have to beg to differ there," he responded with a faint smile, "I never promised to put on fuzzy pajamas."

Emily's eyes crinkled.

"It was in the codicil, you should have read the fine print. So," her eyebrows rose expectantly, "is that a yes? We can leave?"

_Please, please, please!_

"Yes," his eyes crinkled, "of course we can leave. Then he scowled slightly as he touched her wet strands. "But _after_ you go change and dry your hair. Otherwise you're going to get sick again."

Emily's eyes began to sting.

"It's really sweet that you worry so much about me." She whispered. "Nobody else does that. Nobody's _ever_ done that. It makes me feel, um . . ."

Feeling a bit of self-consciousness, Emily's gaze dropped down to the carpet for a moment. Then she caught her courage, and looked back up at Hotch with a little smile.

"Happy." She leaned up to put her arms around his neck. "You make me feel happy," she murmured again as she closed her eyes and his arms slipped around her body. "Very happy," then she huffed slightly as his fingers glided along her bare skin.

"And warm."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he squeezed Emily to his chest.

"That's because you're mostly naked," he gently teased, "even a napkin would make you feel warm."

Feeling her resulting laughter vibrate against his chest, Hotch smiled. And he held her for another few seconds . . . enjoying the sensation probably more than he should have . . . before he finally had to pat Emily's back.

"Uh, not that this isn't nice," he whispered. "But remember," he leaned back with a faint dimple, "extended hugs require more clothing than you're wearing right now."

Though most men would think that he was nuts for breaking off physical contact with Emily in her string bikini, it really was necessary. Her bare skin was cool and silky, and the breasts pressed against him were soft and full . . . and barely covered.

Bottom line, she was gorgeous, and she was his friend, so she off limits. And his body just didn't always distinguish from off limits. And he didn't want to get any of their lines blurred.

It would screw things up.

"Oh," Emily stepped away with a sheepish grin, "right. Sorry. I forgot what I was wearing."

See with him, with Hotch, he never treated her, or looked at her, like those other men had. Like she was a 'thing.' An object to be used for _his_ personal gratification. He was kind and thoughtful, and protective. And that's why she would forget occasionally that she needed to be respectful of some physical boundaries between them.

Otherwise she was just being a tease.

"It's okay," Hotch winked as he took his own half a step back, "I suffered through it."

Seeing the shy smile Emily gave him then, Hotch had the strangest desire to pull her into another hug. But he pushed the urge away. Just a latent something or other leftover from downstairs.

That's all it was.

And as he stepped aside to let Emily go in front of him, he suddenly caught sight of Dave's door opening at the end of the hall. Then a thirty-something blonde woman came out . . . and then Dave himself.

He was buttoning his shirt.

And not wanting to embarrass anyone . . . it was clear now what Dave had been doing for the last hour . . . Hotch immediately feigned an interest in one of the antique rifles lining the other side of the wall.

"Oh Prentiss," he asked quietly, "did you see this Remington?"

And Emily immediately shifted her towel and moved to his side.

"Oh yeah," she pointed. "That's some nice etching on the stock."

A second later the blonde whisked by them in a swirl of expensive perfume, silky material, and shiny diamonds. And that included one diamond the size of a doorknob.

It was sitting on her left hand.

Once the woman had hit the stairs, Hotch leaned back slightly to see her go. Then he watching as she ran down, then turned and headed into the front hall.

A second later she disappeared into the great room.

Hotch whipped his head around to see Dave walking towards them.

"Is her husband _here_?" He hissed in disbelief.

Even for Dave, that seemed reckless.

But Hotch could see Rossi nod in affirmation as he walked up. And though there was a faint smirk on his mouth, the glint in his eye reflected no amusement.

It was something darker.

"He is. He borrowed something of mine, and now I've borrowed something of his." Dave stopped and shrugged, "and now we're even."

At that Hotch saw Emily's eyes narrow, just as her hands curled into tight fists.

She was pissed.

"And did the _Mrs_. know that she was part of that exchange of _'goods_'?"

There was something dangerous in her tone, something that made Hotch reach out to slide his hand along her arm. Then his fingers looped around her wrist.

He was trying to keep her right hook . . . her best shot . . . from connecting with Dave's jaw.

It was tacky to end your time at a party by socking the host in the face.

But fortunately . . . for all of them . . . Rossi just smiled at the question, and then he reached out and cupped Emily's cheek with his palm.

"Honey," he whispered, "it was her idea."

Hotch saw Emily's eyes crinkle then, just as Hotch felt the tension leave her body . . . and situation resolved.

"Okay then," she tipped her head, "just checking."

After the crap she'd put up with downstairs, she would have happily knocked Dave on his ass if she thought he'd used a woman so despicably like that.

As a _commodity_.

But she should have known better. Dave Rossi might be a cad . . . and obviously a bad friend . . . but he wasn't a misogynist. That was probably most of his problem really.

He just liked women WAAAAY too much.

Case in point, she saw him drop his eyes down to her bikini right before he waggled his eyebrows.

Though he just did it playfully.

"Looking good there Prentiss," Dave smirked as his hand fell away from her face, "too bad I'm a spent man."

"More like too bad you're an _old_ man," Emily shot back with a halfhearted a grin.

The insult came as a second nature to her . . . it was just how they interacted . . . but she still wasn't up for banter.

She'd just be happy when she got home.

And then she heard Hotch huff from behind her, right before Dave burst out laughing.

"That's why I like you Prentiss," Dave snorted as he patted her arm, "you never pull a punch."

And then he started to walk around them, but Hotch put his hand out.

"Wait, sorry Dave, but can you get me our weapons, please?" Then he jerked his thumb over his shoulder and back towards the stairs. "We're going to be taking off after Prentiss changes."

Seeing Dave about to ask the question . . . why were they leaving so soon . . . Hotch quickly added.

"I need to run an errand."

"And he's my ride," Emily smoothly closed the loop. "But we had a good time. Though," she huffed slightly as she tugged on her towel, "you could maybe think about heating the pool. It's VERY cold."

Though it was a bit impolite to complain, she couldn't let that point go without ANY comment. If not now, then it would have just slipped out at a later date anyway.

And then she would have just looked like she was harping on it.

Dave's nose wrinkled slightly.

"Sorry. I forgot that the heat pump was acting up last week. I meant to get that checked and then we flew out for that case in Arkansas and totally forgot." Then his eyes crinkled as he reached out to tug on Emily's damp hair.

"I'll make it up to you. You can come back some day and use the hot tub."

Emily's eyes widened slightly.

"Hot tub?"

This was news. And perhaps an equitable exchange . . . at a future date, in a PRIVATE gathering . . . for freezing her ass off today.

"Yep," Dave nodded as his gaze shifted between Emily and Hotch, "that little gazebo on the other side of the house, that's the hot tub. I had it installed this spring, but it's just been too damn hot to use the frigging thing. Should be good for the winter though," His lip quirked up, "You pick the day Prentiss."

Then Rossi tipped his head back down the hall.

"And Hotch, if you want to come with me now, we can go get your pistols out of the safe in my room."

Not bothering to wait for the younger man's response . . . he knew he'd be following along . . . Dave turned to start walking away. But then he called back over his shoulder.

"And Prentiss, feel free to jump in the shower if you want to warm up." Rossi shook his head, "You've seriously got some nipples there that could cut glass."

Emily's jaw clenched.

"Men suck," she muttered. And then she felt Hotch's warm fingers press against her back, right before he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

"Go take your shower," he whispered, "And we'll pick up some Ben & Jerry's on the way home." Then he winked, squeezed her fingers . . . and hurried after Dave who was just disappearing into his bedroom.

Emily watched Hotch until he too disappeared into the open doorway. Then a soft smile touched her lips.

'_Okay, maybe they didn't all suck.'_

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><p><em>AN 2: When I first had the idea for this, I had envisioned at least some level of 'pool frolicking.' But the water was just too cold :) And then as I had them going in the house, it just seemed logical that Emily would be getting stares from some of Dave's unhappily married (as established in previous stories with the wives hitting on Hotch and Derek) male neighbors. It also seemed logical, even at this stage where their feelings are just starting to shift, that Hotch wouldn't care for that. And if you've ever been gawked at, you know that there is a fine line between harmless male attention and the kind that really makes your skin crawl. And the latter does make you feel uncomfortable even if you're simultaneously pissed off because you know that you've done nothing wrong. _

_I have a few more thousand words to post here before we're wrapped. Initially I was going to include them on this chapter, but then Dave turned up in the hallway and things got extended even further. Not sure if I'm going to continue their evening all the way back to Emily's though. Obviously you already know their plans, but I'd really need a hook to make it worth writing about :) So I guess I'll flip through the prompts and see if I come up with anything. Or you know, feel free to ask for something._


	4. Better Days, Past & Present

**Author's Note:** Last chapter in this story, I think :)

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><p><strong>Better Days, Past &amp; Present<strong>

After she'd taken her 'hot as she could stand it' shower in the upstairs guest bathroom, Emily got dressed and tucked her wet bathing suit into the grocery bag that she'd brought with her just for that purpose. Then she dug into the bottom of her beach bag to find her travel makeup kit.

Once she'd reapplied the basics . . . and removed the slight under eye mascara/raccoon smudges with a dab of cold cream . . . she tucked everything away again. And finally, with a slight wince, she began to comb out her snarls . . . with just her fingers.

A comb was the one thing that she'd forgotten to throw into her bag.

But fortunately Dave had some very nice . . . very_ expensive_ . . . salon conditioner in his shower, so she was able to smooth her strands out pretty well . . . and with minimal tears . . . even without a comb or brush. But with her hair again . . . or, more specifically . . . _still,_ wet, and the AC in the house still cranked, Emily could already feel that same chill coming back again.

The benefits of the hot water were fading fast.

Oh well . . . she sighed . . . nothing to be done about that. And she was just about to throw her hair up in a ponytail and go find Hotch, when a thought popped into her head.

Perhaps it was an instinctual one . . . or perhaps it was a long buried memory from the night she'd skinned her knees and Hotch had rifled through the cabinets . . . but Emily decided to stoop down and go poking around under the bathroom sink.

She was looking for a hair dryer.

And whether it was instinct or forgotten memory, she actually found one. Though, she thought with a faint eye roll as she pulled it out, with the number of overnight 'guests' Dave probably had . . . enough to run his own Motel Six . . . that probably wasn't all that surprising.

There was probably a cedar chest full of lavender "Hers" bathrobes off in one of these extra bedrooms.

The thought of it . . . and the not so ridiculous plausibility of it . . . made Emily snicker slightly. And once she got her amusement, and the desire to go looking for the whole mythical stack of them, under control, she finally set about blow drying her wet strands.

That took another ten minutes, and it wasn't really that beautiful when she was done . . . again, she had no styling utensils . . . but she wasn't going for runway quality anyway. She just wanted it to be 'not wet.' And she got her wish on that point.

It was now, 'not wet.'

So once she'd curled the cord back around the dryer, and tucked it away, Emily set about tidying up the rest of the bathroom.

Evening out the wet towels over the warming racks, and hanging the bath mats over the edge of the tub. Then she used a piece of paper towel to wipe up the few stray brown hairs that had fallen onto the vanity and the floor while she was shaking her head out.

That would just be rude to leave those there.

So once the bathroom looked as it had when she'd arrived in it thirty plus minutes earlier . . . like nobody ever used it . . . Emily did one last check of her make-up, picked up her straw bag, and went in search of her ride home.

She found him in the library.

When she stepped through the double doors into the oak accented room, Hotch's head was down and his chin was resting on his chest. And though for a second Emily thought that maybe he was reading . . . he had a book in his lap . . . she then realized that the book was closed. Her lip quirked up slightly.

As were his eyes.

This was a first, Aaron Hotchner just 'nodding off' somewhere. But as Emily thought about how many hours he'd worked over the last week, month, year . . . thousands . . . her faint bit of amusement, faded.

And then it was gone completely.

Because she realized then that if she didn't get him to rest more, that he was going to drive himself to an early grave. And as she bit down on her lip, Emily made herself a vow that she'd not let that happen. She'd keep balancing his terrible days with laughter on their breaks, and dinners out and evenings in snuggled up on the couch.

It was a life that made her happier too.

And with this plan to make him relax as often as possible, now Emily was feeling badly about having to wake him up. But she knew that he wouldn't want to sleep at Dave's house anyway. Besides that though . . . she reminded herself with a softening of her expression . . . if he needed it, he could take a nap when they got back to her house.

And so with that happier thought, she walked over to rouse her Sleeping Beauty.

It was a bit of a surprise, when she stopped in front of him and Emily noticed that his eyes still hadn't opened. With his hearing and reflexes . . . both generally bordering on the super human level . . . she would have expected him to already be awake.

He was really that good.

And seeing how he hadn't reacted, she figured he must have really just been_ that _particularly tired. So with a faint crinkling of her eyes, Emily leaned over to put her bag on the floor. And then she stooped down in front of his chair.

Just as she reached out to touch his cheek . . . his arm suddenly shot up and his fingers locked tightly around her wrist.

"Emily," he mumbled to himself while dropping her hand.

"Yep, it's me," she whispered back, "Are you awake?"

The question was fairly rhetorical. If he was talking he was awake. So mostly she was just trying to cover her pride that not only were his reflexes were just as sharp as she'd expected them to be, but that he could also identify her even with his eyes still shut. It was Dave's shampoo and soap, so perhaps it was just the curve of her wrist that he knew so well.

That made her happy for some reason.

"No," Hotch opened his eyes to give her a sleepy smile, "sound asleep." Then he simultaneously stretched and stifled a yawn.

"You ready?"

His voice was a bit husky, and between that and the half asleep smile, Emily had to remind herself that Hotch was Hotch, and not just some random handsome face.

Because a random handsome face, with a husky voice like that, would have gotten her a bit worked up.

And to distract herself from those rather unexpected (confusing) realizations . . . realizations that she most definitely shouldn't be having . . . Emily slowly came back to her feet.

She'd given a "yup," to his question as she rose, because that point at least was not in any state of confusion.

She was most DEFINITELY ready to go!

But then Emily noticed Hotch pausing in the act of handing over her service weapon. As she reached down to take it from his hand, his nose wrinkled . . . he was giving her a funny look.

So her brow rose in response.

"What?" She asked, while slipping her holster onto her waistband.

"Where are your other clothes?" Hotch responded slowly as he stood up, dropping the history book on the chair behind him. "I liked your other clothes."

The white blouse and mini-skirt, they were gone, replaced now by jeans and a long sleeved red t-shirt.

They must have been in her bag.

Emily's gaze immediately shifted away from Hotch's, landing somewhere off in the corner of the room. Somewhat distractedly she realized that her view now was of the droopy, old fern. It was the one that she and had Hotch kissed under last Christmas.

Such a long time ago.

"Just figured I'd be warmer in this," she murmured with what she hoped was a disinterested shrug. "That's why I brought it, for if the weather changed."

Then she pleaded silently.

'_Please, don't ask any more questions Hotch. Please just leave it alone.'_

Hotch's brow wrinkled.

"But the weather didn't change, Emily," he pointed out logically, "it's still hot out. And it's not even three yet, so it's not going to cool down for hours. And now that your hair's dry, and you're out of those wet clothes, you won't be cold anymore."

Though Hotch knew that this was an odd point to get hung up on . . . her choice of outfit . . . for some reason it seemed important that he find out why she had put the skirt away. And it wasn't just out of general curiosity that he wanted to know, but more because he was also getting a bit of a tickle on the back of his neck.

The belief that something was wrong.

And the tickle had come when he'd seen how visibly uncomfortable Emily was that he'd asked the question. And it was such a simple question, that he couldn't see why . . . unless there was something else going on . . . it would bother her at all.

And why . . . his brow suddenly inched up . . . was she now ignoring him? She was just looking off into the corner. And even as he was looking at her, Emily's right hand began to tap what was clearly an impatient rhythm on her leg.

Now he was getting very worried.

And when she didn't speak again, and the tapping didn't stop, Hotch finally reached over to touch her cheek.

Her eyes snapped back to his.

They were bright, and clear . . . and much too wide. Like she'd just been caught in a trap.

"Emily," he repeated softly, "please tell me why you changed your clothes."

Emily stared at Hotch for a moment longer . . . there was no place else to look really.

His gaze had her ensnared.

Then her teeth began to grind together as she felt those dark brown eyes boring into her soul. Finally she bit her lip.

There was no point in continuing to evade the question. Not only had she lost focus on even coming up with another plausible misdirection, but more importantly . . . he already knew something was wrong, and that meant that he wasn't going to let it go.

He never had before.

Her eyes fell shut for a moment, and then she opened them again.

"I changed because I felt gross," she whispered while trying to will down the encroaching warmth that was climbing her cheeks. "And I didn't want any more attention from anybody at the party." She swallowed, "those guys downstairs, the way they were looking at me when we came in earlier, it just," she shuddered slightly as a faint pout touched her lips, "it didn't feel good."

It was so embarrassing to admit that, that she could be so rattled by such a tiny blip of a moment. But the reality of that moment, of that SITUATION, it actually was wearing at her. Because she knew that under different circumstances, if she was alone and a group composed of men like that . . . a half dozen well-toned, drunken forty somethings that wanted to tear off her clothes . . . ever decided to _really_ come after her, even with her training, she wouldn't be able to fight them all off.

She'd be completely fucked.

So that's why that moment had become symbolic of something more. It was a genuinely upsetting reminder that there were limitations to even the strongest woman's abilities to protect herself in a man's world. Because that world had teeth.

And it was out to get you.

Hotch's jaw tightened as his gaze shifted up and over Emily's shoulder . . . he should have known.

God damn it! If HE had picked up on the way those asshole were looking at her, then _of course_ she would have too!

That shit was _directed_ at her!

And now he felt like a complete ass for having been so utterly oblivious earlier as to why she'd wanted to leave. Her reasoning at the time had seemed plausible . . . that she was cold and miserable . . . and he'd just been too wrapped up in his own anger at what he had seen, to even think that there might have been another reason.

That she might have actually been upset.

But there was nothing to be done about it now . . . he reminded himself . . . he'd just have to take it as a learning experience to make sure that he paid better attention to her in the future. So what was REALLY pissing him off now, was that he couldn't even go downstairs and take a piece out of anybody for upsetting her. Unfortunately all they'd really done was 'look' at Emily, that was it. And he couldn't take retribution for someone simply looking at her.

At least not after the fact.

And knowing that his continued anger in that moment wasn't helping anything . . . certainly not Emily . . . Hotch tried to let it go. It was difficult though, because he was angry not just for what those men had done . . . for the general sliminess of it, which was what had bothered him earlier . . . but also because they had made her change her clothes. They'd made Emily feel badly about herself. Made her feel dirty.

And that offense . . . his gaze shifted back to hers . . . that was not one that he was likely to forgive.

Still though, those were _his_ feelings . . . ones that he was planning on sharing at a later date with Rossi, those men wouldn't be allowed around his agents again . . . and what mattered now were Emily's feelings. On getting that look out of her eyes.

Uncomfortable, and . . . his gut twisted . . . embarrassed.

He so hated to see her embarrassed. It was another shot at her self-esteem.

And her self-esteem had taken enough shots over the years already.

So he stepped forward, tentatively reaching out to run his fingers down her arm. But when he saw her shoulders slump slightly at the touch . . . she was closing in on herself . . . he again wanted to go downstairs and break a half dozen noses.

And maybe a half dozen skulls.

But again, he reminded himself, violence wasn't going to fix anything here. So he closed the last inch separating his body from Emily's. Then he wrapped his arms around her, and a second later she was tucked under his chin, and against his chest.

Her whole body was rigid in his arms.

"I'm sorry." He whispered in her ear while rubbing his palm slowly along her back. "I'm sorry it happened, and I'm sorry I didn't realize earlier that's why you wanted to leave," he kissed her temple, "is there anything I can do to make it better?"

Emily remained stiff for a moment, but then took note of how tight Hotch's embrace was, and how soft his tone, and she found her body slowly relaxing. Then he kissed her, and her eyes began to sting . . . she let them fall shut.

"You're doing it," she whispered on a sigh.

Then she slipped her arms around his waist, and buried her face in his throat. And after a few minutes of Hotch Therapy . . . breathing him in, while he held her close and rubbed her back . . . she really did start to feel better. Not all better, but . . . she tipped her head back to give him a little smile . . . at least now she didn't feel like boycotting the rest of Dave's mixed gatherings, or slinking out the back door. And that was due to Hotch alone.

She had found over the last few months, that his touch could make so many of the bad things bearable.

It was a gift.

"Thanks," she whispered with a gentle pat to his cheek, "you're a pal."

"Ditto," Hotch responded with a wink. And when the blush started to form on her cheeks, he leaned forward to kiss her forehead. Then he murmured against her skin.

"Next time please tell me when you're upset, okay?" He leaned back, "Even if you think it's a little thing, or I can't do anything about it anyway, I still want to know." Then he squeezed her close before adding softly.

"You don't have to deal with things alone anymore," he added while kissing her temple. "We'll deal with them together."

That was the lesson he had learned from his own time with Emily. That sharing things, big things, little things . . . stupid things, getting all of it off his chest, it made them better. Not all better, but he didn't live in a world where things would ever be 'all better.'

He lived in the real one.

But sometimes you just needed to share a bit of those burdens, and that could be enough to make them bearable. Enough to get you through the day. And so much of life was just getting through the day.

At least a life like his.

Feeling her eyes start to water, Emily turned her head slightly to rub her cheek in the curve of Hotch's neck.

"You're going to make me cry," she sniffled.

He was too sweet, and MUCH too good to her.

"Sorry," Hotch leaned back to give her a little smile, "but I just want you to remember that I'm here. Always. And now," he raised an eyebrow, "do you want me to go downstairs and be as you say," he gave her a cold smile, "'me,' or should we just go back to your place?"

Emily had sent him off to 'be himself' in the past when someone needed to have his head taken out of his ass. But he'd only do it here, now, if that's what she wanted.

Emily's expression softened at Hotch's offer to go make grown men wet their pants. Before him, she'd never had her own personal Terminator before. Well, except for her dad of course. But he traveled so much that she'd had to fend for herself most of the time.

Hence making some colossally bad judgment calls in her fifteenth year on the planet.

But having Hotch in her life now, Emily sometimes wondered. . . usually in moments like this, when he could literally hug the pain away . . . just what her life would have been like if she'd known him back when she was a girl.

Better.

That was always the word that came to her. Things would have been better. But that was the past, she reminded herself, and the past couldn't be changed. Nor really could the present.

At least not this one.

Which was why a faint smile touched her lips as she wiped the corner of her eye.

"Thanks," she huffed, "but it's not worth it. And I'd rather just get out of here. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get home. And the sooner we get home," her lips twitched, "the sooner you'll have the pleasure of seeing me in my Donald Duck pajamas."

Time to lighten the mood . . . and Donald Duck would do the trick.

Hotch's mouth quivered.

"That's funny, because you know a viewing of adult sized Donald Duck pajamas _was_ actually on my bucket list."

He was just happy to see tension had left her body, and that shadow had left her eyes.

Now the knot could leave his stomach.

Emily's faint smile morphed to a full on grin.

"Well, then," she chuckled softly, "isn't this just your lucky day?" And as Hotch's eyes crinkled, she leaned up to kiss his cheek. Then she pressed her lips to his ear.

"You are totally Super Chief," she whispered while giving him a final squeeze. "And now," she took a breath and leaned back, "let's get this show on the road."

"Yes, ma'am," Hotch responded with a little smile. Then he let go of Emily to turn and pick up his bag, and then the book he was borrowing from Dave.

Once he and Emily had both gathered their few possessions, Hotch slipped his arm back around her shoulders.

"Donald Duck, Chinese, and Cary Grant, right?"

Though the movie for the evening hadn't yet been picked, Hotch knew that Cary Grant was Emily's favorite actor. So it stood to reason . . . given her unfortunate run-in downstairs . . . that he would be her choice tonight.

"Yep," Emily nodded as she rolled her head against his chest, "that's the plan." Then she shifted her eyes up.

"S'okay?"

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he started them towards the door.

"Just fine with me."

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><p><em>AN 2: And now, we're done. Like I said last time, if I get an idea for the time at her apartment, I'll follow up. But otherwise, we'll just consider it wrapped._

_Trying to get up the conclusion to Aaron & Emily next. Not tonight next, just this week, next._

_Thanks as always for the feedback!_


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